Worth Waiting For
by BarbedWire
Summary: A series of semi-related oneshots focused on Ron and Hermione's life together, highlighting all the moments that were worth waiting for. Mainly fluffy, but with some angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hi everybody!  
>This will be a collection of semi-related Ron and Hermione one shots. They will be mostly pillowy softness(fluff) but there will probably be a bit of angst here as well, oh well, can't be happy all the time can we? These first few chapters will be in chronological order and will all be about the birth of Ron and Hermione's first child. After that, expect a lot of timeline bouncing. I will just do what ever random moment in their lives that I feel like doing, probably there will be some school year stuff in here as well as post-war happiness. Its all Ron's point of view for now, but I don't know if it'll stay that way.<br>'T' is a steep rating for now, but what can I say? I don't trust Ron.  
>This first chapter was published all by itself as a oneshot called "False Alarm". If republishing it here is against any rules let me know, and I'll take it down.<br>BarbedWire**

Chapter One: False Alarm

"Ron! Ron!"

He was standing in an empty forest, rain soaking into his clothes. He heard her calling after him, and a part of him longed to turn around and go back to her, but another, more dominant part of him refused. _She made her choice, _it repeated over and over in his head. _She chose him._ Letting his anger fill him, he turned on the spot-

With a muffled thump he landed, tangled in the sheet on the floor beside the bed. He groped on the bedside table above his head for his wand.

"Whas hapning?"

"Ron, it's coming!" it took a moment for his brain to shake off the last vestiges of sleep and realize **what **was coming.

"The-the baby?"

"Yes Ron, what else?" if he was not in a state of near panic he would have been tempted to smile at how she could still manage to take the 'honestly Ronald' tone with him in a time as distressing as this.

"Right, so we ummm…" his mind had gone numb, and he was left flailing. They had been expecting this, they had a plan. A plan they'd rehearsed, a plan he had repeated to himself every night before falling asleep. It was a plan that even Hermione was sure about, and since nearly every plan they had ever come up with had fallen completely apart she was seldom sure about any plan anymore. Unfortunately, Ron had completely and totally forgotten this brilliant plan.

"We went through this Ronald!"

"Yeah, I know, I know," he said pulling himself off the floor and untangling himself from the sheet. He flipped on the light and struggled to recall any part of the plan. He was pretty sure it involved him getting dressed, yeah, that was in it. He could do that.

"Where are my pants?" he asked, attempting to stifle a yawn.

"Ron! You're supposed to know this! How am I supposed to do this if you don't even remember what the plan is?" having located his pants, Ron turned to face his wife as he struggled into them. She was clutching the bag they had packed a week before and her face looked close to tears. He wrapped his arms around her quickly.

"It'll be alright, I promise," he felt her nod into his shoulder. "Just umm, get me started on the plan and I'll be all set."

Under normal circumstances he felt certain that that last remark would have earned him his favorite reluctant half smile, but this wasn't a normal circumstance and he supposed that her response was the best he could hope for.

"Owl Ginny and Harry"

"Right." He kissed her cheek. "I'm all good now." He pulled the nearest t-shirt over his head, and started down the stairs.

He found Pig buzzing excitedly around the kitchen.

"C'mere, you bloody git," he said to the tiny owl as he zoomed towards him. He grabbed the letter Hermione had prepared for his best friend and sister days ago, and attached it to Pig's small leg. "Deliver this to Harry and Ginny, quickly," he instructed. Pig hooted once happily, then flew out the open kitchen window.

As soon as Pig disappeared from view in the darkness outside, he heard Hermione coming down the stairs. He met her at the bottom and took the bag from her.

"We got everything?" he asked as Hermione took his hand.

"I think so. Did you send the letter?"

"Yep. So I guess if you're ready." She nodded, he took a deep breath and turned on the spot. After a moment of an unpleasant squeezing sensation, they emerged before a desk in the spotlessly clean hallway of St. Mungo's.

"Can I help you?" inquired the woman behind the desk. Ron felt that it was part of his duty to tell her who they were, and why they were there, but in the short moment it took for him to regain his bearings after the apparation, Hermione had already answered.

"Hermione Weasley and I'm in labor," she said it so calm, so matter-of-factly. It was astounding, perhaps it was best he had not answered, knowing him, he might have screamed 'she's having a bloody baby!'.

"Right this way," said the woman, leaving her desk and starting down the hallway. She showed them to a small room with an empty bed inside. "A Healer will be right with you." She turned to Ron, "If you could just step out for a moment sir, while your wife gets changed."

Ron nodded, and kissed Hermione quickly, "Will you be alright?"

She smiled, a very small smile marred by discomfort, "Of course I will, Ronald."..

It was just growing light outside when they apparated back into their sitting room. Without even removing her shoes, Hermione flopped down onto the couch and fingered her still round belly.

"I was so sure," she mumbled, Ron sat down on the floor beside her.

"S'alright." He said laying his head against her shoulder.

"But I woke everyone up."

"No one is mad. Well maybe Harry and Ginny, but that's just because they've gone and had two of the things and they _never_ get to sleep anymore." Hermione smiled slightly at his attempt at humor.

"It's never going to come is it?" she pulled a pillow under her had dejectedly.

Ron took her hand, "Course it will. It is related to me after all, and you know what that means?"

"It will wait until it is absolutely necessary to do anything?" Ron suppressed a laugh.

"I was going to say it'll wait until it's good and ready, but I suppose yours is right too."

There was a short pause before Hermione said, "I hope it's like you."

"I can't see why you'd want it to be anything like a pouty, stupid, git." Ron replied, but his tone was light and he smiled as he closed his eyes against her shoulder. He simply sat there, listening to her breathing for several minutes before he became aware that he was drifting off to sleep. That would have been a rather pleasant thought, had he not been aware of how late it was getting.

Groggily, he opened his eyes and looked down at the watch he had received on his 17th birthday. 6:56. Well that bloody figured he grumbled to himself as he stood up off the floor. He looked at Hermione; she seemed to have fallen asleep. She looked so peaceful; he did not want to wake her. Instead he bent over her quickly and kissed her forehead.

"Where are you going?" she stirred sleepily and reached for his hand.

"Work," he replied, sorry to have woken her.

"Oh Ron, I'm so sorry I ruined your whole night's sleep when you had to go to work,"

"Don't worry about it. If Harry doesn't show up, then I can just sleep at my desk all day."

His weak humor didn't seem to have alleviated her guilt, "I love you Ron." She let go of his hand.

"I love you too. Both of you." He patted her stomach gently, and kissed her cheek quickly.

Smiling to himself, he pulled his jacket back on, and stepped away from the couch. He turned quickly on the spot and with a pop disappeared from his sitting room. He emerged a moment later in his office. He hung his coat on the hook beside the door and sat down; thinking to himself that it really was just as well that it had been a false alarm. Now at least he would have another shot, and when it was time, he would keep his cool. No more falling out of bed and struggling to put on his pants nope, next time he would know just what he was doing.

"First things first," he said to himself, stifling a yawn. "Let's memorize that plan again." ..


	2. Chapter 2: Warnings

**Author's Note:  
>Okay, so I'm not as comfortable with Harry as I am with Ron, but I tried. If he seems off to anyone, let me know. Also, if anyone has any ideas of Ron &amp; Hermione moments that you'd like to see, I'd love to hear from you!<br>Special thanks to Niftygirl for reading through this for me. She's brilliant!  
>I think thats it...enjoy!<br>Reviews make my day!**

Chapter Two: Warnings

He had managed to recite the plan to himself three times before he gave in to his drooping eyelids and laid his head down on top of his folded arms on his desk. The office was entirely quiet, save the constant ticking of his watch beside his face.

When he awoke to the sound of knocks on his door, he had no sense of how much time had elapsed. Was it a mere moment ago he had closed his eyes, or hours ago? He picked his head up off the desk. His neck was sore from having been sitting in such an awkward position. Gingerly, he turned it side to side. He rubbed his eyes trying to appear awake and peered down at the papers he had been sleeping on; half-finished paperwork he should have been working on this morning. There was a tiny spot of what looked suspiciously like drool on the corner of one of them. Hastily, he wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Come in," he croaked as whoever was on the other side of the door knocked once more. Ron cleared his throat and set about trying to appear busy. The door opened, and a man about Ron's age with very messy black hair entered.

"I wasn't expecting you to be awake," Harry joked as he settled himself into the chair opposite Ron's desk.

"I wasn't expecting you to turn up," he replied relaxing slightly and abandoning his rouse of working. As the Head of the Auror Department, Harry might technically be Ron's boss, but he was hardly afraid of Harry reprimanding him for his lack of productivity.

Harry picked up one of the many folders littering Ron's desk and flipped through it at random. Ron looked down at his watch, relieved to see that he had only dozed for half an hour or so. He waited for Harry to speak, but he simply continued to sit and look through the contents of Ron's folders.

"Hermione is sorry she dragged you and Ginny out of bed." Ron was slightly surprised when Harry chuckled.

"We have a month old baby, Ron; we haven't slept through the night in ages. Probably not since James was born." This thought filled Ron with sudden terror. His current exhaustion was bogging down his mind, making thought slow and cumbersome- but it would be nothing compared to the exhaustion he would feel after a year of lost sleep. His horror must have showed, because Harry laughed again.

"Don't worry Ron; sleep deprivation isn't as bad after a while."

He had heard it all before. In fact he had heard little else for nine months. 'It's terrible, but you'll go bonkers when you see the thing and forget it's so horrible'. Over and over again he had heard it, from his brothers, his parents, Harry, Ginny, anyone who had ever had children had seemed ready to share this helpful advice with him. After hearing it for a while, he had even grown to believe them. It couldn't be that bad, could it? And babies were cute after all.

He wanted this baby, he really and truly did, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid. Nine months had seemed an eternity nine months ago. Ages and ages in which to prepare for it, but now they were up, and they were to expect the baby at any given moment. He felt that he had been standing in line for some horrific task, and his number had just been called. He wanted the baby to come, he was tired of waiting for it, but he couldn't help but doubt his preparedness.

"How is Hermione?" asked Harry after a moment's silence.

"Impatient," said Ron, trying to focus on how much he wanted to be a father, not how terrifying it was. "She's tired of waiting for it."

"It about drove Ginny mad." Remembered Harry, but Ron did not need reminding. At the time, he had thought that his pregnant sister was the scariest thing in the world. That was until he had met his pregnant wife. There had been multiple occasions in which Ron had been certain she was about to kill him, he shuddered at the thought.

"They say we don't need to be worried yet. It should be any minute now though."

"Don't worry Ron. It won't be long."

A yawn came on to him so suddenly that he couldn't suppress it. Harry laughed again.

"Shall I leave you to your nap then?" He stood up and pushed the chair he had just vacated towards the desk.

"What kind of brain dead idiot would I be if I admitted to my bloody boss that I was planning on sleeping all day?"

"You don't usually let the fact that I'm your boss deter you from doing what you like." Harry pointed out.

"I'm not usually responsible for keeping you up all night."

"Just finish up last's weeks paperwork, alright?" all the authority of his statement was lost in the broad smirk that he gave his friend.

"Yes, sir," Ron offered Harry a mock salute. "Apologize to Ginny for me, will you?"

"Sure thing mate." Said Harry as he closed the door and slipped out of Ron's office.

He contemplated returning to his nap for a moment but he didn't really feel like he could sleep. All the talk about the baby had reminded him of just how apprehensive he felt. He was certain that it was all this waiting for it to come that was making him nervous and the moment it arrived he'd relax. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself. Apart from what his friends and family had told him, he had absolutely no idea what having a baby would actually be like. Yes, he understood that he would have to get up in the middle of the night, and change diapers, and all of the stuff that he could have explained to him, but that still did not leave him with a clear picture of what it would actually be _like._

Any day now, he would be a father. So what'd that mean exactly? Did it mean that he was going to suddenly emerge from a puff of black smoke middle-aged and balding the way he had always known his own father to be? Of course he wasn't, Harry and his brothers had not become suddenly old when their children were born. On the outside, they had seemed exactly the same. But they weren't; it was just that whatever had changed in them was much more subtle than hair loss. Ron had asked Harry about it once, not long after James was born, and he had told him that he couldn't possibly explain what it was like.

He'd understand soon enough, Harry had said when they'd announced that Hermione was pregnant. But what if he didn't? What if he didn't undergo whatever change was necessary to enable you to successfully raise a child and therefore failed at it, condemning his poor child to a life of misery. The thought nearly paralyzed him with fear. For months and months he had thought he'd gotten over his doubts about his ability to be a parent, but as they'd arrived at his child's due date, they'd all come flooding back to him.

He knew what it was to have no belief in your own worth and that was something that he never wanted to his baby to know. But it wasn't like his parents had intentionally raised him to be riddled with insecurities, it had just happened. And what if he unknowingly made the same mistakes with his baby and doomed it to the same doubts and fears he had known for so long?

He shook his head, willing himself to focus instead upon how nice it felt to say 'his baby'. He'd get to meet it soon. He wondered what it would be like. Was it a boy or a girl? Would it look more like him, or Hermione? Would it have red hair? He found himself feeling increasingly impatient, albeit slightly nauseous, to know his child.

Glancing at his watch, he sighed and turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. He should be grateful; he supposed that his boss was his best friend. How else could he have been given permission to sleep all day on the soul condition that he finished work he should have had done days ago?

He supposed that the least he could do to show his appreciation of Harry's generosity was to finish the paperwork before he settled in for another nap. Smiling quietly to himself he set to work, resisting the urge to doodle 'Chudley Cannons' in the margin, but allowing his mind to wander to what it would be like to bring his baby home for the first time…


	3. Chapter 3: Craving

**Author's Note: Hey! Roads were too nasty to drive to school today, so I wrote this instead:)  
>This isn't really particularly oneshot-like, but as soon as I get through this story about the baby, than they should become more like typical oneshots.<br>Thank you to everyone who favorited or alerted! You guys ROCK!  
>Niftygirl, once again is amazing for reading through this :)<br>I don't think I have anything else to say, reviews are greatly apprecitated.  
>Enjoy!<strong>

The paperwork took longer than he had expected, or perhaps he had simply underestimated how distracted he was. When he had finally dotted the last 'i' it was nearly noon. He stacked the papers neatly, and pushed back his chair.

He was debating whether or not to go down to the Leakey Cauldron for some lunch when his door opened and the tiny middle aged witch who served as a secretary for the Auror department entered.

"There's an owl from your wife Mr. Weasley," she offered him a sealed envelope addressed to him in Hermione's neat handwriting.

"Thank you," he said as he took the envelope. The witch smiled at him.

"Still no baby?" she asked. Ron chuckled. It seemed that that was all anyone had asked him for weeks.

"Not yet," he answered beginning to open the envelope. She nodded and returned to her own desk, closing his door quietly behind her. Hermione's note was short, and looked as though it had been scribbled quickly. Well, it was scribbled by Hermione's standards anyway, the result was still something that was at least ten times neater then his own best handwriting.

Ron,

When you come home, bring Fizzing Whizbees.

Love,

Hermione

Ron smiled to himself as he read it. For months Hermione had been experiencing odd cravings for wizard candies she had never even particularly enjoyed. Ron was typically quite amused by these cravings, except of course when they sent him flooing all over the place in the middle of the night. He was still better off than Harry at least. Ginny had gone through both pregnancies eating almost nothing besides cupcakes from this one Muggle shop. Poor Harry had been in there every day, buying the pink frosted things by the dozen. He had on multiple occasions complained to Ron about how much he now loathed the very sight of a cupcake.

He picked up the stack of papers on his desk and removed his jacket from where it hung. Stepping out into the hallway, he was shocked at how many people seemed to be filling it, and what was more, that they all seemed to be aware that his baby had not yet been born.

At last he reached Harry's office, which seemed like a haven of safety after the throng of sympathetic and inquisitive people he had had to wade through.

"Blimey," he said, closing the door to Harry's office. "How is it that everyone seems to care whether or not Hermione's had the bloody baby?"

Harry seemed completely unsurprised that Ron had come barging into his office, swearing about the people in the hallway.

"They're just showing off how well they know what's going on in your life." said Harry without looking up from his desk. Ron walked up to him and placed his stack of papers on his desk.

"Here's that paperwork. Would you mind if I took off?" Harry looked up at him. "Hermione's home all alone, and I'm too distracted to be much use any way." He felt for a moment a horrible sensation as if he were explaining to Snape why he had failed to complete his homework, but instead of sneering at him as Snape would have done, Harry merely smiled.

"Of course mate. Tell her I said hello."

"Yeah, thanks." He slipped into his jacket. Harry turned his attention back to his work.

"Don't mention it."

He made his way out of the building, emerging in a few minutes onto the streets of Muggle London. Outside a cold drizzly rain fell from the gray, cloud covered size. Ron zipped his jacket as he walked along the streets to the Leakey Cauldron. He passed through the bar quickly, resisting the urge to at least get a sandwich. He did not know exactly why, but he was very eager to get home. Diagon Alley, wasn't very crowded, probably due to the dreariness of the day. It brought to the front of his mind the memory of the day that he, Harry, Hermione, and a goblin called Griphook had travelled to this same alley in disguise to rob Gringotts.

Remembering that event caused him to remember the rest of that horrific day. He pushed the memory away. Even now he could see his brother's eyes glassed over and empty, he could feel the magical fire engulfing him, he could hear You-Know-Who declaring that Harry was dead. He pushed it out of his mind, cold and powerful though those memories may be, he was strong enough now to keep them from taking hold of his mind the way they used to. He could never forget how painful and horrific that night had been, but he no longer dwelled on it. He could go whole weeks, not without thinking of Fred, but without thinking of him like _that._ He could now remember his brother as he had been, as opposed to the empty body lying on the floor of the Great Hall beside so many others. Naturally it had taken ages to arrive at this healthy attitude. He was grateful at least, that all of the things he had given up in his life would mean that his child would never have to make such sacrifices.

He went quickly into the small candy shop that was one of the many new stores in the alley. He wished that he could have some prediction of which candy Hermione would want next, so that he could simply stock up now and save himself a trip. But there was never any sense to her cravings, so he simply grabbed a package of Fizzing Whizbees. He glanced at a display of Chocolate Frogs and resisted the childish urge to buy the whole display, simply to see how many of the collectable cards featured his own name. He quickly paid for the Whizbees so as to remove himself from the temptation.

He contemplated a walk up to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a quick visit with George. But despite the emptiness of the street, the store looked crowed and he really did want to get home and find some food.

He returned to the Leakey Cauldron and flooed home. Hermione looked up at him as he emerged from the fireplace. She was still sitting on the couch where he had left her this morning, but she had removed her shoes and had a book balanced on her belly.

"You're home?" she asked, she appeared worried for a moment. "Is something wrong?"

He strode across the room and kissed her forehead, "Nothing's wrong. I got your candy." He handed her the package and she smiled as she popped one into her mouth.

"Thank you. Do you have to go back?" he shook his head, and she visibly relaxed.

"Harry says hello." Said Ron as he sat down beside his wife on the couch, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"He and Ginny are coming for supper. I owled to invite them, I still feel horrible for waking them up." She closed her book and set it down, rubbing her round stomach gently.

"What did Ginny say when you told her that?" asked Ron, whose eyelids felt enormously heavy again.

"She said it was really your fault and I shouldn't feel bad." Ron laughed, yes that did sound like exactly the sort of thing his sister would say.

"I'm not surprised. I suppose technically it is my fault."

Hermione reached for his hand. "Don't talk like that Ronald Weasley. It isn't anybody's _fault_; we wanted this baby." Ron placed that hand that Hermione was holding on her stomach gently.

"You know I don't feel like that. Ginny is just tired, and probably trying to get revenge on me for all the times I accused Harry of knocking her up." Hermione's chuckle was cut off by a particularly loud growl from Ron's stomach.

"Haven't you eaten?" she sat up to look at his face.

"No," he admitted, grabbing her hand as she made to get up off the couch.

"Let me make you something." She protested, attempting to pull her hand free.

"No," he got up from the couch himself and propped a pillow beneath her head. "You sit right here." He handed her her discarded book. "I'm perfectly qualified to make myself a sandwich."

As he walked into the kitchen she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "just don't burn down the house". He smiled thinking to himself how impossible it would be to love her any more…


	4. Chapter 4: Shell Cottage

**Author's Note: Hiya everyone!  
>If anybody out there was waiting for the next piece of the story about the baby, then I aplogize for this dirty trick. I've been reading a lot of Shell Cottage pieces, so I decided to do my own. This is more angsty, but its not over the top. Reviews are honestly the greatest things ever(hint hint).<br>Once again, Niftygirl is awesome and amazing for reading through this. And I wanted to thank everyone who favorited or alerted on the last 3 chapters. You guys are amazing.  
>If anyone cares, the next chapter will be the baby stuff I promise.<strong>

Chapter 4: Shell Cottage

He realized, as he swallowed the glass of water that his brother pushed into his hand, that he hadn't tasted anything other than blood for hours- perhaps years, he wasn't even sure if he could remember the taste of anything else.

"Sit down Ron," Bill told him. It was not a suggestion, but Ron still shook his head, he was not 5 years old and being babysat by Bill. He couldn't sit down, could not rest until he had been assured that she was alright. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he demanded. Ron could only shake his head; he didn't trust his voice.

"This is _twice_, Ron. _Twice _that you have shown up outside my house covered in blood. Only this time, you brought a half dead old man, a crippled goblin and a dying house-elf with you! Not to mention the shape that you're all in! You and Dean have had the shit kicked out of you, Harry's face looks as if he took a stinging jinx, Luna might well have been locked up for months, and Hermione was clearly bloody tortured-" He could not stand it any longer. His brother's words brought forth the memory of this evening so clearly he could almost hear Hermione's screams. He fully grasped how close he had come to losing all the things he loved tonight. His knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, covering his face in his hands. If he had not been so exhausted, so mentally depleted, he would have been ashamed of the tears that spilled into his fingers.

Bill spoke again, his voice much softer, "She'll be alright. Fleur'll look after her."

Ron nodded weakly. With a sigh, Bill crouched beside his younger brother. Ron took a quick shaky breath, and wiped his nose on his sleeve, which really only smeared the dirt and grime from his sleeve across his face.

"Ron, she's going to be fine." Bill set a hand comfortingly on his brother's shoulder. Ron opened his mouth to reply, but his voice broke and he merely let out a sort of whimpering half sob. He took a couple more quick breaths to steady himself.

"I-I couldn't save her," he managed to get out at last. His voice was reduced to a croak, no doubt from screaming Hermione's name at the top of his lungs. "I told them to take me instead. I-I wanted them to take me instead. But, I couldn't…"he trailed off, burying his face deeper in his hands. Bill did not say anything, but simply gave his brother space to marshal his feelings. After a moment, Ron stood up, and wiped his face with his hand rather than his sleeve. He cleared his throat, which felt raw and scratchy.

"I can't tell you what happened Bill, someday, when this is all over but not now." he half expected him to argue, but just as he had not called Ron a coward when he had left Harry and Hermione, he did not press him now.

"Let me get you more water. Go in the bathroom and wash your face." He said as he moved back into the kitchen.

"And Ron," he added turning back to face him, "I don't know what happened, but I bet that Hermione is pretty damn glad it wasn't you who was hurt." It wasn't exactly a comforting statement, but Ron got the distinct impression that he was supposed to take it that way. It was as if Bill were attempting to illuminate some inevitable fact that should fill Ron with hope for the future. Before he could demand to know what he had actually meant however, Fleur was standing in front of him, looking worried.

"Hermione?" he asked her urgently, his voice a mere whisper. It was the first time in his life that he could recall seeing Fleur standing before him, and being completely unmoved by her beauty.

"She ees sleeping," she said uncertainly. "Perhaps oo should not wake her…" she was trying to dissuade him from disturbing her, and perhaps she was right, but Ron was already pushing past her. He had to see her; he had to know that she was alright.

She looked astonishingly peaceful, save the thin scratch on her neck. He wanted to move into the room, to kneel down beside her and brush her curls away from her face, but he was paralyzed and frozen on the doorstep. So instead he simply stared as her, watching her chest rise and fall. Bill's words came back to him. He was wary to allow himself to believe that it had meant what he so desperately wanted it to, but he found it hard not to. Either way, she was here, safe and he could relax at last as she slept soundly.

In a moment, Bill was standing beside him again. "I told you she'll be alright." He said quietly, barely breaking Ron's reverie. Ron looked out the window, he could see a little garden, where Harry was squatted beside a large rock. He had nearly forgotten about Harry, in his haste to know whether Hermione was alright. But she was alright, he could see it, he could hear it in her slow breathing. She didn't need him to stand in the doorway staring at her, but Harry, out in the cold wind, burying one of his greatest friends, probably did.

"If she wakes up, tell her I didn't leave. Tell her I went to help Harry, but I'll be right back." He said to Bill as he walked back towards the front door.

"I'm sure she'll ask for you," said Bill simply. Somewhere inside himself, Ron no longer doubted that his brother was right…


	5. Chapter 5: Now or Never

**Author's Note:  
>So we had class time in Physics to prepare our cheat sheets for the midterm, so what did I do? I wrote this piece on Ron's thoughts during and after the kiss scene in Deathly Hallows(which I love so much more in the books than the movies). Its pretty short, and its really only thought processes. All of the dialogue here is straight out of The Deathly Hallows, which as we all know was written by JK Rowling and not me.<br>I am running out of adjectives to describe how awesome Niftygirl is for reading through all of my stuff, suffice it to say that she is indeed amazing.  
>I know that I promised that the next chapter would be more baby stuff, but it's fighting me, it'll be along soon though:)<br>I want to thank everyone who added this to their alerts or favorites, and I want to thank clang1969, Allbright, LilyMay77, Cassia4u, and Liawai for the reviews. I know that some of those reviews were from way earlier chapters, but I kept forgetting to put in a proper thanks. I am so overwhelmed by all of you who have favorited and alerted, and I am terrified to try and put down all your names, because I am sure I would forget someone. But thanks to all of you, just the same! Still love reviews!**

Now or Never

"I mean we should tell them to get out. We don't want any more Dobbies do we? We can't order them to die for us."

It was a surprisingly long moment before he knew what was happening. Hermione had dropped the Basilisk fangs in her arms; they went clanging to the floor as she suddenly threw her arms around him. She was kissing him, and before his mind had even bothered to make sense of it, he was kissing her back; faster, stronger, more passionate than he had ever kissed anyone. He wrapped his arms around her, and her feet left the ground. The world melted away around him, and everything was perfect.

He vaguely made out Harry's voice over the pounding of his heart. It didn't matter what Harry had said. He gripped Hermione closer, willing his mind to forget how imperfect the moment really was. It didn't matter that there was a war going on, it didn't matter that they needed to find a Horcrux, it didn't matter that Harry was standing there watching.

"OI! There's a war going on here!" Reluctantly, they broke apart.

"I know, mate, so it's now or never, isn't it?" Ron said.

"Never mind that," shouted Harry, sounding exasperated. "What about the Horcrux? D'you think you could just-hold it in until we've got the diadem?"

Harry was right. Now was not the moment. Besides, he had already achieved the greatest thing he had ever hoped for. _You ought to be happy now, _he told himself. _You ought to be ready now. _It was true, he had ought to be able to go now and die with no regrets. After all, a kiss from Hermione was the single greatest thing he could have hoped to actually accomplish (though he could always dream further…). He should be satisfied now that at least he had spoken all of the thing he could never seem to say with that kiss.

He was 90% certain he would die tonight. It wasn't that that was what he wanted, and it wasn't as if he were resigned to it. It was purely logic. All this insanity, around him, all the times he had avoided death before; it made sense, and shouldn't he be alright with that?

18 years wasn't' that long in the scope of things, but hadn't he lived enough, and done enough in those 18 years to compensate? He supposed he should think so. But the truth was; he wasn't ready to die. He wanted so much then more than one hurried kiss so that she could taste something other than death and dust in the air, feel something other than pure adrenaline.

He wanted a lifetime of kisses, he wanted to wake up beside her forever, he most of all he wanted to tell her how he felt- not just with actions, but with words, real words. The poetic, eloquent kind his tongue had always tripped over.

_Well you know the solution then don't you?_ He thought to himself as they moved into the hallway. _Just find a way to live. _Somehow, as the door to the Room of Requirement reappeared before him, living through this bloody war had never seemed so doable. If Hermione was waiting for him on the other side than come Hell or high water, he'd make damn sure he was alive to meet her.


	6. Chapter 6: Chess

**Author's Note: First off, thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, or alerted.  
>This chapter is more baby stuff. It doesn't have a lot of plot, but hopefully that's alright.<br>Niftygirl is awesome once again for reading through most of this.  
>I don't really have anything else to say. Reviews are the best!<br>Enjoy!**

Chapter 6: Chess

Ron and Hermione were in the kitchen, preparing supper when they heard Harry's voice from the living room.

"Hello?" he called out. Ron wiped his hands on his pants and went into the living room.

"Hiya mate," he said as Harry was joined by Ginny, grasping two year-old James's hand and holding tiny Albus in her arms. James's hair was every bit as messy as his father's. Albus yawned, cuddling into his snitch embroidered blanket and closing his green eyes. Even though they looked just like Harry, somehow their behavior and attitudes always reminded Ron of Ginny as a child.

"No Teddy?" Ron asked as Ginny let go of James and he set off to the kitchen, no doubt in search of some of the treats that Hermione usually gave him.

"Andromeda has him tonight," said Ginny. "She thought we deserved a bit of rest." Ron couldn't help but agree. Harry's own children were probably exhausting enough, without having to deal with his eight year old godson, Teddy Lupin. Besides, it made Andromeda happy to watch him. She had lost her husband and daughter in what was now called the "Second Wizarding War"; her grandson Teddy was all she had left.

Ginny gave Ron a small, slightly annoyed smile by way of greeting. He was not sure if she was really angry with him for her loss of sleep, or if she merely wished to appear that way.

"Hermione's in the kitchen." He told her, though she seemed to be already on her way.

"I'd better rescue her from James." Ginny rolled her eyes, but Ron was not fooled. Both she and Harry complained about what a horrid little beast James was, about he smashed things and made awful messes, but the sheer adoration with which they said it somehow lessened the affect. They loved James and Albus more than anything else in the world, and despite how loud they were or how much sleep they cost them, in their eyes, they could do no wrong. That was exactly how Ron hoped to feel about his own baby, though he'd prefer if it wasn't particularly loud…

Ginny moved along into the kitchen to greet Hermione, and Ron turned to face his best friend.

"Blimey, Al's getting huge." Ron remarked as Harry slipped off his jacket.

"Yeah, he keeps on growing every day." Harry smiled fondly.

"'Fore you know it you'll be putting him on the train and teaching him to apparate."

Harry sighed. "To be honest, I'm more worried about James going to Hogwarts than Al." Ron laughed as he and Harry made their way into the now slightly crowded kitchen.

"He'll have to beat the girls off with a beater's bat, what with being your son and acting just like Ginny,"

"And what exactly, Ronald, is 'acting just like Ginny' supposed to mean?" It was Harry's turn to laugh as they entered the kitchen. Ginny had evidently heard his remark, and the tone in which she questioned him reminded him all at once of how famous she had been in school for her Bat Bogey Hexes. Oddly enough, the fact that she was cradling Albus in her arms did not make her look any less terrifying.

"Need some help Hermione?" he asked as an excuse to ignore Ginny's death glare. This made Harry laugh even harder as he slipped into a seat beside Ginny.

"I'm helping!" shouted James defiantly. Hermione laughed, and stooped down to pick up James and set him on the counter.

"Yes you are," she said brushing his hair out of his face. His expression changed to one of smug superiority.

"You replace me so easily." Ron said in a voice of mock indignity, Hermione turned to him.

"Sorry," she kissed his cheek quickly, prompting a loud 'eww' from James.

"Will you hold this for me James?" said Hermione, turning back to the counter and handing him the colander with the air of offering him a very important job. James nodded eagerly, and stuck his tongue out at Ron, who did the same back to him.

Hermione began to drop peeled potatoes into the colander, making James squeal and squirm whenever drops of water splashed up onto him. Ron simply watched them for a moment, thinking of how someday soon Hermione would be laughing and playing with their own baby. Hermione would make a fantastic mother, just as she had made a fantastic aunt. It hardly seemed possible that they were this close to becoming parents.

It was moments like this where he amused himself by imaging what it would be like to go back in time and tell his fourteen year old self where he would be in a little over ten years. That lousy little git would probably deny that he even wanted any of this. Sometimes he almost wished he could tell his younger self what he would be someday; he felt that knowing it might have prevented him from making some of the mistakes which were still his greatest regrets.

But that was ridiculous; it had all worked out, hadn't it? He had made those mistakes yes, but she had forgiven him and here they stood, laughing in their kitchen, expecting their first child. He was far from forgetting how horrible he had been, but it grew easier every day to ignore how impossible it would be for him to ever deserve her, and simply be grateful that for whatever reason she was his. He didn't deserve her, but it that seemed increasingly unimportant. She wanted him, why he had less than no idea, but he wanted her to be happy and being with him made her happy. The universe's sense of justice was fatally flawed, but he wasn't going to complain, at least not as long as it's flaw was decidedly in his favor.

"Did you manage to get that crib we gave you assembled?" asked Harry abruptly. Ron scowled at Harry's tone; it seemed he had no faith in his friend's ability to assemble a crib.

"As a matter of fact I did manage. Would you like to come upstairs and inspect my work?" rather than be offended by the iciness of Ron's statement, Harry laughed.

"Yeah, alright." Grumpily, Ron led the way out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. He stopped in front of the crib which had been set up in Ron and Hermione's bedroom for the last two weeks.

"See? Care to check how tight the screws are?" Harry laughed again.

"There isn't any need to get so defensive Ron. I'm not really inspecting your crib. Ginny just wanted to talk to Hermione alone, some awkward girl stuff."

"Oh," said Ron sheepishly. "Thanks for getting me out of that." Harry grinned.

"No problem, I didn't want to hear it either." They both laughed.

"How long do you reckon we need to stand up here?" asked Ron.

"A while I'd say."

"Up for a quick game of chess?"

"Going to beat me senseless again, Weasley?"

"I was planning on it." Ron replied simply, and he went about setting up the chess board, fully intending to soundly whoop his best friend, who sighed and sat down across from him…


	7. Chapter 7: Amortentia

**Autor's Note:  
>Hi everyone! This is another short random piece. It takes place in 6th year, during the first potions class. Except for the last bit. That doesn't really have a setting, its just a refelction.<br>Thank you to everyone who added this to their alert list or favorite story list and to those who added me to their favorite author list. You guys are honesestly absolutely amazing!  
>This hasn't been read through by anyone, so all the errors and awkwardness are all me.<br>The dialogue here is straight out of Half-Blood Prince which was written by J.K. Rowling who I am not.  
>I have recieved a lot of really great suggestions for scenes that I should do, and I am planning to do all the suggestions I have recieved so far, but if any of you guys have any more, I'd love to hear them!<br>Reviews are super, super awesome! And people who review are super, super, super awesome. (does that look like bribery at all?)  
>Any who, enjoy this. It is admitedly pretty pointless.<strong>

Chapter 7: Amortensia

Ron sat down beside Harry and Hermione at a table where a golden cauldron was emitting steam in great spirals. He didn't notice the smell at first. It smelled of strawberry shampoo and old books, it did not strike him as an odd smell because he smelled it every time he stood beside Hermione. He took another breath, and only when he found that he could also smell the Burrow, and all his favorite candy that he realized the smell was in fact coming from the cauldron and not the girl beside him.

He could not understand how this potion could combine all of the things that he loved in such an enchanting, engrossing way, but it was completely amazing. He found he was breathing much more deeply, and more frequently than normal. Harry grinned at him; it seemed that the potion was having a similar effect on him as well. He was half curious what Harry smelled, but he did not want to ask and moreover he did not want to say what he smelled.

Ron hardly paid attention as Hermione answered each of Slughorn's questions. The intoxicating scent of the potion was making him feel incredibly happy, almost hopeful. He breathed again and again, letting the scent fill him up.

"Excellent, excellent!" Slughorn beamed as he gestured to the cauldron in front of them. "Now this one here…yes, my dear?" Hermione's hand had shot into the air again.

"It's Amortensia!" she replied, and Ron turned to look at her. Under the influence of this intoxicating potion he was almost tempted to actually reach out and kiss her. He shook his head, almost thankful that he didn't have that much nerve.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask, but I assume you know what it does?" Slughorn sounded incredibly impressed.

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" Hermione answered enthusiastically.

Slughorn and Hermione continued to discuss the qualities of Amortensia, but Ron was not listening. He was still processing the idea of the amazing smell coming from love potion.

"It's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—" for some reason, Hermione did not finish her sentence and instead blushed and lapsed into silence.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been angry at the way the world was so rudely reminding him how he felt about Hermione. But today, not only was he not angry, he was positively optimistic about it. What had she been about to say? Of course it was probably not what he wanted it to be. For all he knew she was going to say Harry, or Krum or God knows what else, but he could not stifle the hope that maybe, just maybe she would have said his own name…

xxxxxxxxxx

She wouldn't always smell like strawberry shampoo and old books. There was be a time when he had held her in his arms and she had smelled only of dirt and dust and fear and blood. She grew up and changed shampoos, exchanging the scent of strawberry for 'Spring Breeze' or something that she deemed more adult like. But there would never be a day after that one when the smell of her hair, whatever it might smell like, would not fill him with a sort of reluctant hope. Even when he was at his absolute weakest, when the world looked so hopeless and bleak he couldn't remember why he even wanted to live, somewhere inside him there was a hope. And even if he chose to ignore it, chose to listen to the locket's words in his head or to think of Fred instead, the smell of her would always remind him that he loved her, and with that there was always hope…


	8. Chapter 8: NEWTs

**Author's Note: Hi everybody!  
>This chapter is dedicated to Liawai, who reviewed way back on chapter two and suggested a fight scene. Well, I'm sure you deserve a better fight scene than this Liawai, but this is what I could do. This takes place sometime in the summer after battle, when the issue of Hermione returning to school for her N.E.W.T.s comes up.<br>I have recieved a couple more excellent suggestions that I am actually really excited to do, but if any of you have any more suggestions I'd still love to hear 'em!  
>Niftygirl is super amazing and brilliant and awesome and every other complimentary adjective you can think of for reading through this. And lastly, I owe some well deserved thanks to The Mysterious E, MischiefManaged007, Harrypotterandpercyjacksonfan, LilyMay77, and smkffnut for their reviews. Also I want to thank everyone who added this to their favorites andor alert lists. There is just too many of you to list you all out, but you are no less appreciated;)  
>Reviews are AWESOME!<br>Enjoy this pillowy softness, well mostly pillowy softness at least.**

This certainly was not the way that Ron Weasley had envisioned bringing Hermione back to his flat. The rest of the night had gone perfectly. They had had supper with her parents, who had just returned from Australia. He had been polite, and not even overly nervous when he was introduced to her father as 'my boyfriend' instead of just 'my friend Ron'. Afterwards they had taken a long walk just the two of them, until he had suggested they return to his flat for the evening. Everything had been going so perfectly, but this was definitely not how the evening was supposed to end.

He slammed the door with more force than necessary as he entered into his tiny living room behind Hermione.

"Why in bloody Hell are you doing this?"

"I just don't understand!" Hermione screamed, turning round to face him. "Why is this the end of the world?"

"Because!" he roared back, unable to contain his anger. "You're just leaving me! You're just going to go and get all your bloody N.E.W.T.s and be the God damn Head Girl and go back to being top of everything while you leave me here to rot!"

"You know why I have to do that Ron! I have to finish-"

He cut her off, "No you don't! Kingsley's agreed to let us all off!"

"Dammit, Ron you know it's not the same thing!"

"Why isn't it?" he spat back at her. "Why isn't staying here and rebuilding the world with me good enough for you?" he was more angry than he had been since the night he had left her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt.

"THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU!" her face was contorted with rage.

Furiously, he pushed all the books and papers off the nearby desk to the floor. They landed with thud that neither of them seemed to hear.

"Right, because I'm just the man in bloody love with you, I have nothing invested in your life choices at all!"

"Why are you making this all about you?"

"Because it is Hermione! Because I can't lose you. I can't, and you're just going to go off and do your school and forget all about me! When you come back I won't even matter." His anger had boiled off, and by the time he finished speaking, his voice sounded completely hollow.

Ron turned his back on her and stomped into his bedroom where he collapsed onto the bed. He put his face into his hands and simply sat there, willing himself not to lose his temper again. If he lost control of himself he would say something that he didn't mean. The last thing he wanted was to do some irreparable damage in their relationship before she left.

He did not pick his head up as he heard her quiet footsteps enter the room, but she did not wait for an invitation, instead she sat down beside him and placed a tentative hand on his knee.

"It won't be like that," she whispered quietly.

He was ashamed of the sudden tears that spilled from his eyes and he moved to brush them away but she caught his hand as it approached his face.

"I just can't lose you." Ron muttered quietly resting his head on her shoulder. Gently, she stroked his hair.

"I don't want to leave you either." She admitted, "But I just have to do this. It isn't me choosing school over you or anything."

"You'll forget about all about me." She gripped his hand tighter.

"I won't forget you, it would take more than a year at Hogwarts to make me forget you. I'm going to miss you so much. But I'll send you an owl every day, twice a day. And you can see me at Christmas, and Easter and Hogsmeade visits." He laughed as he realized how ridiculously similar this conversation was to one he had with his Mum the year he had gone to Hogwarts.

"Am I being ridiculous?" he asked, not moving his head from her shoulder.

"A bit," she said in a joking tone, but she was serious again in a moment. "I love you Ron. I love you so much."

"I love you too Hermione." He sat up, and gripped her hand back. She smiled up at him, and suddenly it didn't matter if she loved school and grades better than him. If being what she loved second best earned him a smile like that, than he supposed he could be second to school.

"Just think," she said, turning to face him. She took both his hands, and he too turned so that they were both facing each other, "We have forever. This year will seem like no time at all someday."

Maybe it was okay she loved being clever more; after all, if she didn't maybe she wouldn't be able to say something that brilliant.

He kissed her hard on the mouth, twisting his fingers in her hair. She sighed and leaned into him, maybe tonight hadn't gone so far off plan after all…


	9. Chapter 9: Buckbeak

**Author's Note: Howdy every body!  
>This chapter takes place in Prisoner of Azkaban, after Buckbeak's execution. I guess it's only in the movie that Hermione puts her head on Ron's shoulder, because I couldn't find it in my book but it was cute so oh well. This was actually suggested by smkffnut and is therefore dedicated to them. I'm sure your idea could have been executed a lot better, but I tried. Do any of you have suggestions? I'd love to hear 'em.<br>I wanna thank Harrypotterandpercyjacksonfan, LilyMay77, and smkffnut for their reviews. Thank you to all who added this to their favorite or alert lists and to those who added me to their favorite authors list. You guys are seriously amazing.  
>Niftygirl is still super, well, nifty for reading through this, and I still don't own Harry Potter.<strong>

There was more finality in the sound of that axe falling than in any other noise Ron Weasley had ever heard. With its crashing, something had ended. Not five minutes ago, Buckbeak had been sitting in front of Hagrid's hut. Now, with the falling of that axe he was gone. Death was not something that Ron really understood, and though he might wish to deny that it bothered him, it did. It seemed incredibly strange that something could be there, and then in the next moment it was gone from this world. He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

But it wasn't really the concept of the death that he was most struggling to understand, no matter how confusing it might be. What he truly wished to understand was just how he had ended up standing here with Hermione's head upon his shoulder.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was sobbing into his shirt. Harry was standing on her other side, rubbing her shoulders gently. He was aware that he probably ought to be comforting her too, but he was too shocked. Instead of offering her comfort he simply stared ahead, trying to pretend that her head didn't feel incredibly warm and nice on his shoulder.

_Pull yourself together._ He ordered himself frantically.

_So she's laying her head on your shoulder, so what?_ His subconscious had hit on the question nagging him perfectly. What exactly did she mean by resting her head against him?

_She just wants some comfort. She did just hear Buckbeak get offed._ That was it of course, that was precisely why Hermione now had her head rested upon his shoulder, her arms around his neck. She was turning to her friend for comfort after a traumatic experience. It made sense.

_Why didn't she turn to Harry's shoulder?_ Now that didn't make sense. He might be Hermione's friend today, but they had been fighting all year. They had hardly spoken for weeks over Harry's stupid Firebolt. And even when they weren't fighting, Harry was always a much better friend to her; he always had been. So why then, was she resting on _his_ shoulder, when she could have just as easily turned to the other direction and had Harry? It just didn't make sense.

Ron couldn't have explained why, but he felt a sudden burst of hope deep within his chest.

_What're you so hopeful about, you smarmy git? _He was tiring of his internal discussion, or perhaps he simply did not want to answer the question his subconscious demanded. Why was he so hopeful? Just what was he hoping it meant that she had turned to him and not Harry?

He tried to assure himself that all he was hoping for was that this meant their friendship was saved. Yeah, that was safe-er exactly what he was hoping for. He could just see his mental subconscious smirking at him unconvincedly.

_That's all I want. What else would I be hoping for?_ His retort was lost on the image of his subconscious who he imagined as continuing to smirk in an 'if-you'd-just-admit-it-to-yourself-you-already-bloody-know' way. It was infuriating, what was the matter with his mind? Creating all these sick ideas and then holding them over himself like some kind of threat. It was just mental. No one should have long, in depth arguments with themselves over their best friends it just wasn't right-

_Are you going to ruin this whole moment by fighting with yourself?_ What was there to ruin? He was just failing at offering comfort to Hermione. What was there to ruin in that?

"Scabbers!" Ron exclaimed ending his internal debate as the rat slipped out of his hands. The rat scurried along in the grass, and Ron hurried after it, ignoring Harry and Hermione's calls.

He was never really sure how the next few minutes happened, but before he knew it he was being dragged by the Grim towards the Whomping Willow. He couldn't help but feel that this was the end, and perhaps he should have spent more time contemplating death while he had instead argued with himself over Hermione. In a minute he too would join the great expanse of nothingness which he had no hope of understanding.

The pain from the where the dog had ahold of him was dulled for a moment as he realized that would be the last time he would ever talk to his friends.

_Not such a bad last moment was it? Hermione's head on your shoulder, felt nice didn't it?_

He didn't bother to argue with himself. He didn't want to die calling himself a nutcase and besides, there was no point in arguing with himself because if he was honest, he knew that he was right. As far as last moments went, that was one wasn't so bad at all…


	10. Chapter 10: Nightmares

**Author's Note: Hey! I know, this chapter is really, really late. I apologize, but I've been crazy busy and this chapter fought me really hard. I don't know that I'm really happy with it as it right now, but I'm sick of it sitting here. I got one more chapter of total pillowy softness started, then I was planning on doing some more of the baby stuff. If any one has other suggestions of stuff I should do, I love to hear from you!  
>Thanks and acknowledgement time! Okay, to Niftygirl, for reading through this twice and helping me work it out. I love you!<br>To everyone who added this story to their favorite and/or alert lists, and to those who added me to their favorite author and/or author alerts. You guys are seriously awesome, and there is just to many of you to list out, thank you!  
>To smkffnut, Allbright, EmmieSue, TheHaloFreak, LillyMay77, and Brittany Black for their reviews!<br>I also want to say thank you to my amazing arch enemy, Abbatemarco(if I spelled that wrong I apologize) for just being there for the past couple of weeks.  
>I think I'm done thanking people, if you guys enjoy this chapter leave me a review and let me know!<br>Still don't own Harry Potter.**

**Pancakes!**

Chapter 10: Nightmare

There was no light in the tiny, attic bedroom. The air was still and peaceful and there were no sounds to break up the silence. Ron Weasley lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was now too dark to make out the form of the lumpy camp bed beside his own, but he did not need to see it to know that it was still empty. Harry had vacated the bed almost immediately after entering it. Ron knew where he was. He knew, despite their attempts to cover it up, that his best friend and his little sister had begun taking long walks in the middle of the night. He supposed he ought to call Harry out on it, demand that he take these "walks" with someone else's baby sister, but he didn't have the heart. Ginny was bringing Harry back to life. A week ago he had spent all his time sitting alone, staring at the walls. He only talked when he couldn't avoid it, and when he did it usually took him all of five minutes before he was apologizing for that person's loss. He blamed himself for everything that had happened, and Ginny was the only person who had so far been able to force him into thinking sense. So Ron said nothing as Harry slipped out of the dark room each night, and let him continue to believe he had simply been asleep.

The truth was that Ron hadn't slept more than a minute at a time since the battle. He was exhausted, his eyes felt perpetually heavy, and he wished more than anything that he could just close them and drift off to oblivion for a moment. But every time he gave in to his desperation, he could see Fred lying in the Great Hall, still and empty. He could hear Hermione's screams as she was tortured, he could smell Fenrir Greyback dragging them to Malfoy Manor and feel his stomach sinking nauseatingly as it had when Harry was proclaimed dead. It was better to be tired. So here he sat, staring at his ceiling and willing himself not to remember the mound of fresh earth outside his window where he had buried his brother three days ago.

Somewhere far below in the sitting room, he heard the clock strike one. Brilliant, now he only had another four and half hours to lay here in the dark before he could reasonably get up and try to find some occupation to keep his mind and body from longing too hard for sleep. He blinked far more often than necessary, though each time he was struck by another ghastly memory. Damn, he thought, this was going to be another long night. How long could he go on without proper sleep? Surely not much longer, soon he'd just pass out at supper or something. That would end his exhaustion, when he could no longer physically stay awake. Until then the idea of the images and thoughts that would befall him if he obliged his weary mind were worse than the exhaustion itself.

His reverie was broken by the sound of his bedroom door opening. Ron sat up suddenly.

"Whas going on?" he called sleepily.

He was surprised when he heard Hermione's voice from his doorway.

"Did I wake you?" If he had been surprised to hear her voice, then he was positively shocked when she crossed the room in a few steps and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"No," he answered, immensely grateful that the darkness hid the blush that had crept onto his face.

"I'm sorry I came in here, I just-" she paused, searching for words. Ron was petrified to find her in his room, on his bed in the middle of the night. Hermione took a deep breath. "I couldn't sleep, and I knew you were alone, so I just thought I'd come up here and see if you were alright." He could not really see her face in the dark, but he had the distinct sense that she too was blushing.

"Well, you wanna lie down and use the blankets or something?" What was he saying? You didn't just ask girls to 'lie down and use the blankets'; well at least not if you didn't want her to think that you wanted to do things that you shouldn't be thinking of doing in your mother's house. Which was not at all what he meant, or at least it wasn't what he had meant to mean, but somehow all of his thoughts were running together into a nonsensical string of mush. Ron half expected that Hermione would get up and leave in a huff now that he had done something as stupid as ask her to lie down. He was completely shocked therefore, when she nodded.

"If I won't be keeping you awake," she muttered slipping under his covers. Wishing more than anything that he could know what to say just this once, he slid over and made room for her.

"I can't sleep anyway," It would be a miracle if she could not feel his heart pounding away in his chest as she lay against his side. It would be perhaps more astounding if she could not read all of the inappropriate thoughts that were burning inside his mind.

"You should really try you know," she said laying her hand gently across his chest. "It's not good to stay awake so long." Well this was hopeless. If she knew that he hadn't been sleeping, of course she bloody well knew what he was desperately trying not to think right now.

"If I close my eyes-" he stopped himself mid -sentence. "It's just better to stay awake."

"No it isn't Ron. It isn't better to hide from it forever." Of course she would argue with him. Of course she would say that he needed to face it, but it was just too soon.

"I can't Hermione." He didn't want to fight with her, he didn't want to try and find words to justify himself and he certainly did not want to listen to her logical list of reasons why he needed to sleep. She didn't say anything for a moment, and he thought perhaps she had gone to sleep when she replied in a softer voice,

"I know it hurts."

Half of him wanted to bolt away from her, to leave her lying in his bed and hide himself so that she could never see the shameful tears that was stinging his eyes. The other half of him wanted to put his arms around her and sob into her shoulders for the next year or so, the way he had sobbed into his mother's arms as a child.

"It'll never be the same again," he mumbled when he could not find the strength to either of the things he wanted to do.

"No, it won't," he felt almost like a child demanding if a beloved dead pet would ever come back, only to be told it wouldn't. He knew that it would never be the same again, but that knowledge had not stopped him from hoping that she would tell him otherwise. "But it won't always be like this either. There'll be good changes too. It won't always hurt this much."

He knew that she was right. Time would push the memories away and take the edge off the pain; someday he'd have time and energy to worry about those 'good changes'.

"Won't help me sleep tonight though." Hermione snuggled closer into his side.

"That's because you're not trying." Her breath was warm against his chest as she spoke, but her voice was muffled and tired sounding.

"I should let you sleep." She nodded into his side.

Gently, cautiously, he laid his cheek on the top of her head. Her curls felt soft and clean against his face, he breathed in deeply, letting the scent of her strawberry shampoo fill him. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain he could almost feel that there was still hope. After all, here he lay; safe and warm in his bed room with Hermione at his side. Life wasn't over. Underneath all the pain and exhaustion he was still alive.

"Good night Ron," Hermione whispered just loudly enough to break his musings.

"Night Hermione," the sound of her slow, deep breathing was so comforting and peaceful that he couldn't resist anymore. Nestling his head more comfortably into the pillows he closed his eyes.

The moment his heavy lids closed, it was just as he'd feared it would be. Dark twisting terrors that were half memory and half dream assaulted him. It was too much, and before he had even gone fully to sleep he sat bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding and his breathing hard. It took several moments of staring intently at the wall to calm down enough to realize he ought to be embarrassed. But he was too tired and sad to be embarrassed, and after all, it was only Hermione. She had seen him far more pathetic than this. As if she could read his mind, Hermione reached out and took his hand just as he opened his mouth to tell her that that was exactly what he'd known would happen if he tried to go to sleep.

"Baby steps Ron." She whispered. "It won't get better all at once. We have to keep moving forward little by little." She gripped his sweaty palm tightly in her own two hands.

Damn, it should not be possible to love anything as much as he loved her right now. It should just kill him. It shouldn't be possible after everything else that had happened to feel anything as strongly as he loved her. It just shouldn't physically happen.

He was about to tell her how he felt, the words he had been struggling with for years were sitting on the very edge of his tongue. But it didn't feel right as he laid back down and Hermione settled in against his side once again. He took a breath and swallowed the words forming on his lips. It just wasn't the right moment, but he remembered what she had been saying and was renewed with hope. Now wasn't the moment, but it would come. Someday, he would tell her, and it would come out right, not tainted with his exhaustion or pain.

For now he contented himself to rest his cheek back on her head and breathe in the scent of her hair.

"Promise you'll be here in the morning?" he croaked groggily, the quiet calm of her breathing was like a lullaby, slowly forcing him to sleep.

She nodded into his side, "I promise."

Nestling closer against her, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep and all its inevitable horrors to wash over him. The only good thing about a nightmare, Ron thought to himself as he drifted further away from consciousness, towards the black depths of his mind, is that you get to wake up from it. As long as he was waking up to Hermione beside him, he supposed that he could face the nightmares. Just this once...


	11. Chapter 11: A Little Chat

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! This chapter is much later then I anticipated, and for that I apologize. Its long though, so if yo can forgive me, that'd be great. This takes place immediately after the last chapter, so if you haven't read it, I recommend you do. Although I suppose it technically can stand on its own...  
>I want to thank NiftyGirl for reading through this even though my writing is more angsty than you'd like:) and F Maurice, Chicken Chaser, smkffnut, and LillyMay77 for all the brilliant reviews, they were all very much appreciated. I'd also like to thank every single person who added this to a favorite or alert list. I also thank in advance anyone and everyone who is going to read this chapter. I would also like to thank my friend beatlebuff13, who I don't think ever read this story, but I love talking to you, and I had to credit you somewhere;) And of course that pesky arch enemy of mine, Abbatemarco, who always reviews under an alias so no one will find out she sometimes has nice things to say to me:)You guys are so awesome.<br>Unfortunately, I have some bad news. I gradauted High School, which isn't a bad thing in of itself. And I am taking a year off to write. Which again, isn't a bad thing, its actually a pretty awesome thing. The bad part comes from the fact that I think if I'm going to be putting all my time and effort into writing, I can't be exerting that effort on fanfiction. Even though fanfiction is one of the funnest things I've ever done, I need to focus my energies on real writing. That said, I highly doubt that I'm really done with this. I still love Ron, and writing about him is still really fun and really easy, so I imagine that it'll still be a great stress reliever to write about him, so you may hear from me yet.  
>I have had a really great time writing to all of you, and I so appreciate all the time every one of you took to read, review, or enjoy my junk. I wish that I could sit in a magic box where time didn't pass and I could write whatever I wanted for you all to enjoy, but alas, life doesn't work that way. I don't know what else to say, so I guess I'll just wrap up and let you all read this chapter. I'm not J.K. Rowling, which you all know.<br>Enjoy, and this chapter is dedicated to all of you who ever read this, or favorited, or reviewed. And to beatlebuff13 and NiftyGirl.  
>Pancakes,<strong>

**BarbedWire**

Chapter 11: A Little Chat

It was not as much the sound loud of loud knocks on his door that alarmed him as it was the sensation of waking up. Not just coming out of a doze, or wrenching his eyes open despite their protestations, but fully waking from a true sleep.

Ron could not honestly remember the last time he had actually been asleep enough to wake up. The sensation felt strange, almost alien. The particulars of his dark dreams were drifting away, but he could still remember the feeling. The nightmares were everything he had feared they would be, but he could not deny that he felt immensely better for having slept.

He was still trying to shake the sleep out of his brain enough to respond to the fact that someone was knocking on his door when she stirred beside him. His whole body froze as he looked down. Hermione was lying beside him. Seeing her chased what was left of his nightmares temporarily from his mind. She looked peaceful, all the lines of worry and stress smoothed out of her face. She was beautiful, and Ron was acutely aware that now he had seen this brilliant sight, he wanted to wake up beside Hermione every day for the rest of his life.

The person on the other side of the door knocked again, slightly louder this time.  
>Imagining his Mum, Ron felt himself fill with panic. How would he explain to her that Hermione sleeping in his bed wasn't what it looked like? For a moment he was actually sorry that she had kept her promise and stayed the whole night. It would have been much easier if she'd just slipped out after he'd fallen asleep, but then he imagined waking up alone. It had been the sight of her, safe and warm, her brown curls standing in sharp relief against his threadbare orange pillowcase that had allowed him to push the dark things away from the forefront of his mind. He needed her if he was ever going to get any sleep, and he resolved to make his mother understand. Or at the very least hide it from her.<p>

To that end, Ron removed himself from bed, careful not to disturb Hermione in the slightest. He must have learned a bit more grace than he had ever exhibited before, because as he stepped away from the bed, Hermione went on sleeping. She rolled over, but otherwise gave no evidence to imply she was aware he had vacated.

Proud of himself, Ron carefully picked his way across his room to the door. It was not yet fully light outside, but a sleepy haze of sunshine came pouring in through the window. The angle of the sun, the panes of his window and the towers of stuff around his room caused the sunlight to fall in a seemingly random pattern. It illuminated a strange collection of the items around his room; Harry's already made camp bed, the scuffed edges of the old school books that were stacked untidily, the silver Deluminator sitting on top of his trunk, and the faded writing on his many Chudley Cannons posters.

Ron took a breath as he reached the door. He was surprised really, that his mother had simply stood there knocking so long. It wasn't like her to respect his privacy this much, in fact she seldom knocked at all. Concerned by this odd behavior, Ron forgot his uncertainty and opened the door.

Mr. Weasley was standing on the landing, looking more tired and worn than ever before. Sadness and loss were etched into every line of his face, but he remained strong. Ron had always admired his father, and that admiration had only increased since the battle, he wished with everything he was that he could have just a little of his father's strength and ability to cope. He wished he could be offering comfort and holding things together instead of pretending to sleep and staring at his ceiling.

"Dad?" Ron asked bewilderedly. Mr. Weasley smiled a smile that did not touch his eyes.

"Not who you were expecting?" Ron shook his head. He felt guilty that his father had been so far from his mind that morning, but he had learned a long time ago it was best to tell Dad everything, especially if you felt guilty about it. He did not have a wrath like Mum, so there was not as much need to hide wrongdoing from him, and he almost always knew what Ron was thinking and feeling anyway. He was more likely to be helpful if you were honest with him.

"Your mother was concerned when you weren't down pacing at 4:30 this morning." Ron blushed in shame. He thought he was masking his insomnia better than that.

"I didn't know I was waking people up with that,"

"There hasn't been a lot of sleeping in this house lately, Ron." Ron's blush deepened, and so did his sense of guilt. How had he been so selfish? He'd be so busy struggling with himself that he hadn't spent much time thinking what everyone else was doing in the hours of darkness. Mr. Weasley spoke again in a much lighter tone, "But you look like you got some sleep last night."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, not sure whether he knew yet that Hermione was still asleep in his bed, and even less sure if he wanted him to know or not. "I slept a bit."

This time the smile did reach Mr. Weasley's eyes, if only for a moment.

"You're very lucky to have found someone who can help you so much."

Ron was already blushing, but if he hadn't been, it would only have taken a moment before he was completely scarlet. Of course his father knew where Hermione was, it had been extremely foolish to ever hope that he didn't. He had always suspected that while Dad was not as loud or angry as Mum, he knew a lot more about the nonsense his children got up to then he let on. He was not altogether comfortable thinking how much his father might now about the things he had done, and he certainly wished that he did not have to acknowledge that he knew that Hermione Granger was at this moment sleeping in his bed.

"It isn't what it looks like, I promise." Although Mr. Weasley had not made any accusations or even asked a single question about it Ron was, like a child caught in some- wrong doing, immediately on the defensive.

Mr. Weasley merely shook his head and continued to smile slightly. "I'm not accusing you of anything Ron." He said. His voice made Ron feel like a kid again. Like he had returned to those simple days when there was always something sweet in the kitchen and he and Ginny spent all their time wishing Fred and George would let them play with them, and Bill and Charlie and Dad had been the biggest, strongest, most amazing men he had ever heard of. Everything had been a lot easier then, when all he had to worry about was what House he'd get sorted into when he was finally old enough to go to Hogwarts. Maybe it only looked easier now, as he tried to figure out what he would have to say to prove to his father he hadn't been up to something dishonorable and facing the terrifying prospect that if Mr. Weasley put his foot down and declared that Hermione must never, ever be caught in his bed again that he would probably never be able to sleep another night. At the time it certainly hadn't seemed easy, getting into Gryffindor had seemed like the most important thing he would ever do. It was strange to think about that time now, when he never dreamed that Harry Potter would even speak to him and kissing a know-it-all girl would never have entered his mind as the ideal last act. He had never imagined then that George could exist without Fred, that the thought of Hogwarts would make him want to scream instead of filling him with nervous hopes, that he would have lived to hear You-Know-Who's voice speak to him.

And yet, here he stood outside his bedroom and all of that had happened. Despite the fact that he was better rested than he had been in days, he suddenly felt immeasurably tired. Too much had happened in his 18 years.

"Nothing happened. We just," he hesitated, not sure what defense he should use. "We just didn't want to sleep alone." He should have chosen his words more carefully, but under the weight of the crushing exhaustion that had dropped on him he had inadvertently given away the secret of Harry and Ginny's nighttime walks. Of course, it was likely that his father knew anyway, but on the off chance that he didn't, Ron was not excited about being the one to give them away. "I mean-"

Mr. Weasley held up a hand to silence him. "It's alright son, you don't need to explain anything to me. Your sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She and Harry are helping each other, just like you and Hermione."

Ron looked down at his feet embarrassedly for a moment, but before he knew it he was looking his father in the eyes. He did not know what possessed him to do it, or what good he thought it would do, but before he could stop himself he found himself saying, "I really love her, Dad."

His father nodded a solemn but still happy motion. "I know, Ron. I know."

If Ron had any sense at all, he would have left it at that. But whether it was sleep deprivation or relief at finally speaking what had weighed him down since he was 14 or pure insanity something made him continue.

"I have for a long time. I don't know how long really, but years. While we were at school I was so sure she'd never look at me, and I dunno, I was so scared I just tried to ignore it. But it didn't go away, and last summer I thought that maybe, if I tried she might think of me. Then we went with Harry, and I let myself think a lot of things I knew were wrong and I did something terrible to her, and Harry too. I didn't think she would ever forgive me, I mean she shouldn't have forgiven me, but I managed to sort of put things right and she did forgive me. And then everything went to Hell and I knew it's the last thing I should even be thinking about. The battle, and You-Know-Who, and Fr-" he still couldn't manage to say his brother's name aloud. So he took a large breath instead. "I know it's not the time, and it shouldn't be an issue right now, but I can't stop thinking about it, about her. About maybe the possibility of us."

Mr. Weasley had listened to the entire speech without changing his expression from the one of patience and understanding he had adapted after Ron had confessed his love.

"I'm a terrible brother," Ron said despondently, finally voicing the thought that had plagued him since the funeral. He was nothing less than shocked when Mr. Weasley laughed, and Ron was prepared to be offended and ashamed that he had so misjudged his father.

"Ron, you and I both know that your brother was not a man who put much store in solemnity. In fact, he is probably cursing us from above right now for not serving shots of Firewhiskey at his funeral." Mr. Weasley's smile changed slightly, as if he were gazing at something very far away. After a minute however, he looked at Ron once more. "And I know for a fact that in his own, albeit obnoxious way, he was always rooting for you and Hermione."

Ron thought back to all the times Fred and George had ever heckled him about Hermione. It was true, they probably would be rooting for them to end up together.

"It isn't an insult to his memory that I'm still concerned with being in love?"

"If anything it would be an insult to Fred's memory, and everything he fought and died for _not _to be concerned with it."

"I don't know how to tell her. What if she tells me to pound sand?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head once more. "Ron, if there is one thing that I know; it's that Hermione has been waiting as long as you have for you to say it."

Ron's mouth fell open in awe. That couldn't be. There was no way that Hermione Granger, his Hermione Granger, who read too much, and hated her beautiful hair, and who had saved his life more times than he could count would ever waste a single moment waiting on him, Ronald Weasley, who swore too much, who was too tall and ginger, and had made her cry more times than he could count, to admit that he was in love with her.

But a thousand things that could never have happened had happened, and even if it was completely unreasonable, the notion was much too comforting and hopeful for him to turn his back on it.

"I don't have any idea what to say to her." He wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask for any more help or not, but he was certain that if anyone had any idea what exactly should be said to Hermione, it was his father. "I don't think I have the right words to even begin to touch on it." Maybe if he revealed to him how utterly lost he was, the man would be more willing to part with some of his hard earned wisdom.

Mr. Weasley's smile touched his eyes again briefly as he put his hand on his youngest son's shoulder.

"You have more of the right words then I could ever give you, Ron." Ron struggled to keep the disappointment out of his face. It had been too much to hope that he would have offered him the perfect words, or perhaps a pre-written speech. "Tell her exactly what you just told me."

**One last review? For old time's sake?  
>Once again; thanks all around, and I'll miss you guys :)<strong>


	12. Chapter 12: Coward

**Author's Note: Hey! I know, I said I was done months ago. But turns out its really lonely writing to no one, and I was reading back over my reviews page the other day, and everything you guys had written was so sweet, and I decided I really wanted to write another chapter of this. And plus, this month is the one year anniversary of my fanfiction account, so this is kind of in honor of that as well. This may just be the most angsty, depressing thing I've written in ages. For that I apologize, but it has a lighter ending. This takes place after Ron left in Deathly Hallows, after he has escaped the Snatchers and spent a subsequent day trying to get back to Harry and Hermione, and has since given up and gone to Bill's house. It doesn't specify when he splinches and loses his fingernails in the book, so I have decided that it was before he got to Bill's. But not too much before, as I really wanted him to be bleeding. Erm, I don't remember what else I needed to say.  
>I owe some much deserved thanks to those who reviewed on the last chapter. And they would be: LillyMay77, Pen is Mighter, whatapileofshit10, JMbroadwayfan, F Maurice, Average Teenager, Gomylittlepony, and GirlWithFiveLittleBrothers. Everything you guys said was greatly appreciated, and you guys are very, very awesome. No one has read through this, so if the grammar is wrong, it's my fault. And I don't own Harry Potter.<br>Reviews would be make me very, very happy.  
>Think that's about it,<br>BarbedWire**

He found himself standing in water. Not that it really mattered all that much, because he had been wet beforehand anyway. A steady flow of curse words fell from his lips and he clutched his bleeding right hand in his left. He was not yet sobbing, but he felt he was terribly close to it as tears cascaded down his face.

_Coward; _the word tore through his mind like a razor blade. Hacking away at everything he had thought he'd known about himself and the world until it was all just a bloody tangle of hopeless dreams, broken promises and blatant lies he had fed himself for years. In its haste to once again pretend that the world was understood, his mind turned its back on the mangled heap and replaced years of ideas, and memories and understanding with the single word: _coward_. It was, after all, the most accurate adjective to describe him. He did not need the strange voice in his head to point that out to him now. He was perfectly capable of seeing it for himself. Whatever he had thought he had been, whatever he might have done in the past, he was at heart, a coward. A treacherous yellow coward who abandoned his friends with an impossible task all for a broken heart, which was the most disgusting, selfish thing he had ever heard of. And he'd been the one to do it.

Standing was suddenly too much effort, and the he collapsed into the surf. The salt water stung his wounded fingers but he ignored the injury. Looking at it reminded him of how lost he was. Of how he had spent the last day trying in vain to get back to where he had left them. He deserved much more pain than this. The sobs he had felt coming before took him, and he held his head in his hands to ease the temptation to drown himself. _Coward._ Ron let the word run through his head again as he remembered everything that had happened. The terrible things he had said to Harry, the impossible choice he had forced on her, the irredeemable way he had turned his back on her and left, ignoring her frantic calls. There could be no excuse for the things he had done, perhaps it was best that he had been unable to find them, he didn't deserve a second chance. _Worthless bloody coward. _This is what he deserved; bitterly cold sea water, and a stinging wound, and nothing inside him but guilt and pain.

It shouldn't have mattered what Harry and Hermione felt for each other. It shouldn't have mattered that Dumbledore had left Harry as in the dark as they had all felt. None of should have changed anything. He had made a promise to them. He had promised the two people he loved more than anything in the world that whatever happened he would be there with them. And now he wasn't. All it had taken to make him a liar, and failure, and an outright traitor was a little pain. Just a little hopelessness and blood loss and heartbreak and a tiny voice in his head, and he had been willing to go back on everything he had ever sworn and ever believed.

A tiny voice that had echoed every doubt he had ever entertained. A tiny voice that grew louder every time he slipped the chain of the locket around his neck. He should have known. He should have disregarded everything that he felt during his turn to guard the Horcrux. He added another word to the list of derogatory terms he silently hurled at himself; weak. He knew, knew exactly what lived inside the cold metal, and what had he done? Allowed himself to fill with the thoughts that came to him while it lay icily against his skin. If there was a Hell, there was certainly a special circle of it reserved just for him and his mounting list of sins.

Vaguely he became aware that he needed to move out of the water. It was much too cold to be sitting around in the ocean, and he knew he was probably in some kind of shock and hypothermia and death were surely waiting around the corner. But he didn't have the heart to move. He did not have it in him to fight for someone who had so hurt everyone he loved. What did it matter if he just sat here until he froze to death really?

Roughly he felt himself be pulled into a standing position by a figure whose approach he had not even seen.

"Ron?" gasped Bill, shaking his brother slightly to pull him out of his sobs. "What are you doing here? Where are Harry and Hermione?"

The question had been inevitable. He knew that would be they would be the first words out of the mouth of anyone he saw. But he wished it wasn't. He did not want to have to speak it aloud, as if he were s hoping that this was all a nightmare and it would still be possible to wake up again in that drafty tent with Harry and Hermione both safely in his vision. Saying it seemed too likely to will everything that had happened into being real, and he did not want that.

"Where are they, Ron?" Bill asked again his voice more demanding and more desperate. Ron shook his head.

"I don't know." He said despondently. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Weren't you with them?" Bill's desperation was giving way to pure confusion.

He uttered his response as quietly, and as hopelessly as he could, half hoping that Bill would not hear it.

"I left." He expected to be pushed away, to be shunned and ignored the way he deserved. There was no way Bill would feel anything for his brother expect shame and disappointment after learning what he was.

"What?"

"We didn't know what we were doing, and I was a coward and I left. Just like that. Last night. In the rain. She-she tried to call me back and I ignored her." Great, shaking hysterical tremors that he did not know if they had more to do with the cold or with his grief, rocked him until all he wanted to do was sink back into the soft sand and disappear entirely.

He could feel Bill's posture change as he looked on his brother. He did not seem to have any idea what to say to him, so he chose instead to change the subject.

"Why're you bleeding?"

"Splinched." At least, that was why he thought he was bleeding. Particulars other than the sound of the rain hitting the ground as Hermione called out his name seemed increasingly unimportant. Missing fingernails and the bruises he had earned from the Snatchers were not even important enough to earn the rank of concern. They were just like the water or the cold, details of where he was and what he had done that were best ignored.

"Give me your bag." Bill said after watching his brother shaking and shivering for a moment.

Ron shook his head again. He knew what Bill was offering, and he was grateful. But he had changed his mind and no longer wanted to ask his brother what he had come all this way to ask of him.

"Damn it, Ron. You're freezing. Give me your bag and we'll go inside."

"No," he did not deserve his concern. "I'm sorry I came here. You don't have to help me. I'll just go. You can forget you ever saw me."

Bill blinked at him for a moment, as if he could not believe that Ron had actually said what he had just said. "You're full of shit if you think I'm just going to leave you out here to do God knows what to yourself."

"I'm not going to do anything stupid. It's just better if I leave."

"There are Snatchers all over the place." If Bill thought that logic was going to get through to him, than he was wrong. Logic was the last thing he wanted to hear.

He shrugged his point off. "I've run into some already. Besides, I don't think it matters all that much." His throat tightened again, and he only fought against the fresh tears for Bill.

"You won't be doing them any good if you're dead, Ron." Why had he chosen to run to Bill? It seemed a terrible idea. Bill had always known him too well. He was like Dad, always able to wheedle truths out of him that he would scarcely admit to himself.

"I'm not doing them any good wherever I am. I left. How does that help them?" he was grateful for the edge of anger that had made its way into his voice, although he hoped that Bill knew it was directed at himself.

Bill looked at his brother with sympathy and understanding, and when he spoke his voice was as gentle as Ron had ever heard it. "C'mon in the house Ron. We'll help you figure this out."

"There isn't anything to figure out!" he had at last lost the fragile hole he had maintained over his emotions, and they all spilled out him now. He was the most worthless, slime, of a human being that had ever existed in the world. "I left them because I'm a rubbish friend and a useless, dirty coward! I'll never be able to find them again because they don't want me to find them! And they shouldn't! I don't deserve it!"

Before he had the chance to comprehend the situation, Bill's wand was out and Ron found himself lying on his back in the frigid water. He blinked up in disbelief at his brother, who kept his wand trained steadily on him as he spoke.

"I don't know exactly what happened. But I have known you your whole life, and let me tell you this. Without a doubt you've screwed up; badly, from the sound of it. But you are only a coward if you give up. If you go off and get yourself killed because you don't think you deserve another chance, then you'd be right. Because that's the coward's way out, to choose self-pity and misery because it's easier to give up than to keep fighting." He put his wand away and held his hand out to his brother. "If that's what you want, I won't stand in your way. But if you're ready to be the man I know you can be, come inside with me, and Fleur and I will help you find a way to make this right."

In all honesty, he had little to no faith that it would be possible to put this right, but if the possibility existed he wanted to fight for it. He wanted to believe Bill, believe that this one colossal failure was not all that he was.

Full of uncertainty, he grabbed his brother's hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. The smile he offered him as he took hold of his sopping bag was so genuine and so relieved that Ron allowed himself to believe for a moment that he was not a coward.

"What if I can't make it right?" Desperate as he might be to fix things, his entire being still felt saturated with doubts.

Bill sighed, and slung Ron's rucksack over his shoulder as he began to lead him towards the small shell adorned house. "It'll be alright." Ron felt his mind about to burst with all the potential ways that it could not be okay, but for once he bit his tongue. After all, he had never known Bill to lie to him…


	13. Chapter 13: Perfect

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! So I've had this chapter almost done for like two weeks, but I just couldn't finish it. I should have known that all i needed was something I was _supposed_ to be doing instead of writing it... Anyway, since the last few chapters have been pretty angsty, this one is pillowy softness(which is fluff). I've returned to the setting of my very first Ron and Hermione story, _The Best Christmas _as well, but you by no means have to read it for this to make sense. In fact, I probably can't even reccommend that you do read it because I wrote it almost a year ago and I haven't read it in ages and its probably written badly. But there is a better description of the setting in there if any of you would like to read it.  
>My plan is to try to write a chapter of this a month. I should be able to easily work that in around everything I'm supposed to be doing, and that way you all get to read some more:)<br>Thanks to anyone who read or added any of the earlier chapters. I also have to thank Cass for reading through this, and Sarah, who inspired it. Also I owe thanks to LillyMay77 and F Maurice for their really sweet reviews of the last chapter. I love all of you, seriously:) So, I think thats it. Reviews would be crazy amazing, and I'll see you all in December!  
>BarbedWire <strong>

Chapter 13: Perfect

He could just make out the shape of her, a soft blanket covered outline against the city lights glistening off the raindrops on the window panes. He was tempted to turn on the strange electric Muggle light but he resisted. The fact that she had not moved or said anything in response to his noisily entering the flat clearly meant that she was asleep. Instead he set about changing for bed as soundlessly as possible, with only the light of the illuminated street below to guide him. Unconcerned with tidiness, he threw his clothes off and allowed them to sit in a heap on the cheap laminate floor, something which he suspected he would catch Hell for in the morning. At the moment however, he was merely concerned with getting himself under the safe respite of his covers, preferably without waking the still form of his wife.

His wife. The phrase still felt strange and new to him, and although it never failed to bring a smile to his lips, it also did not quite feel real. It was something beyond everything he had ever hoped for, beyond the reasonable realm of achievement for one such as himself. And yet it had happened. And even if it had happened here, in this dingy flat with the gray walls and the odd smells and the sloping, uneven floors, it had happened. Even if he wasn't anything more than a joke shop employee and they had no bed frame and they had promised themselves they would have a real house by now, it couldn't dampen the glorious perfection of his life. Whatever else had happened, he stood here, watching the mound of blankets rise and fall in time with her breath.

He paused for a moment, forgetting his exhaustion and his desire to crawl into bed to watch as the Hermione sized lump in the covers stir slightly. He quickly put his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn, the chilly metal of his wedding band brushing against his cheek, but Hermione did not wake. Wondering to himself how long it would take to get used to the ring, he sat quietly on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. He would have really appreciated some light as he struggled to untie his poorly knotted laces but he resisted the temptation to cast Lumos, fearing that even the lighted end of his wand would wake her. The last thing he wanted was to disturb her when she was seemed so peaceful. So instead he gave up on the troublesome knots and simply worked enough slack into the laces to force his feet out. Once his feet were free of the leather confines, he tossed them wearily onto the pile of clothes that he would have to deal with in the morning.

He was grateful beyond imagination to be free from all his work clothes and finally able to get into bed. Crawling eagerly under the covers, he moved closer to Hermione to offer her a goodnight kiss. It was only then that he noticed the extremely tattered and beaten copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ lying open next to her, and her wand still clutched in her hand. He sighed as he gently slid the wand out of her grasp and quietly closed the book. He set both on his bedside table.

Falling asleep reading, that was nothing. She did it twice a week, sometimes reading for pleasure, other times pouring over the dozens of files she brought home from work. To Hermione, reading was almost like what breathing or eating was to everyone else. So the fact that she had been reading in bed meant nothing, it was her choice in books that worried Ron. _Hogwarts: A History_ was probably the most comforting book she owned. He wasn't sure why, maybe because she had memorized it, or because it was about a place she loved so much or maybe it simply reminded her of a simpler time, when magic was newly real and everything was full of hope for what that would mean. He didn't know what the book meant to her, but he knew that if something was the matter and she needed comforting, it's haggard and faded pages were the first place she turned. But it had been ages since she'd been in the state of mind where the only company she sought was the well-worn book and whatever it meant. In fact, he hadn't seen it removed off its place of honor on the book shelf for months, not since before the wedding. Which was exactly what bothered Ron.

She'd had her share of headaches since then, probably more than her share. What with practically running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the new House Elf Protection act she was working on drafting and being married to him, there was no doubt her plate was well full. But she'd handled all of it, the continued straightening out of the department, the many nuances of creating law, all his whining and complaining and refusing to see any of the Ministry people who still bombarded him with offers of jobs. She'd dealt with all of it with a lot of late nights, a little ranting, and some ice cream, but _Hogwarts _had stayed safely on its shelf. Which likely meant that whatever had happened today was worse than Ministry workers or trying to promote Elvish rights. Much worse.

He gazed down at her, wishing with all his might that he could know what was bothering her and put it right before she had to wake and face it again. But he didn't have any clue what could have possibly gone wrong and probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it if he did know. Mentally cursing his ineptitude, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of curly brown hair that had managed to fall over her face back behind her ear. She did not so much as stir at his touch as he pulled his hand back to softly stroke her cheek.

"I love you, you know." He murmured, his fingers just grazing across the smooth skin of her face. He knew that she could not hear him, but somehow he needed to say it anyway. Something about her lying there, looking more perfect than anything he could have dreamed of left him feeling as though the combined weight of a thousand things he had already said a hundred times would crush him if he did not say them again.

Hermione slept on, seemingly oblivious to Ron's words, and he found himself continuing, as if she were listening.

"And whatever it is that's up, it's gonna be alright. Whatever I can do to make it better, I will." Somehow, it felt much better to say it. Even if he was only really saying it to himself and he had no way of knowing if it was in fact a promise he could keep. He pulled his hand away from her face and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"You're the single greatest thing that's ever happened to me." He admitted into her soft, shampoo smelling hair. "I mean that. There isn't anything that I could have ever done that would top this." He realized that he probably ought to feel silly, saying all this stuff while Hermione remained obliviously asleep, especially when so much of what he was saying was much to mushy for him to be saying anyway. But he did not feel silly, instead he felt relaxed and perfectly content. The day's stresses melted away, as did his fear of what was bothering Hermione and he found himself drifting closer and closer to the sleep he so craved. "You're beautiful." He kissed her forehead again tenderly and was about to roll over into his own side of the bed and go to sleep when she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"You're awake," he smiled down at her when at last they broke apart.

"Yes," she agreed, resting her arms on his shoulders.

"How long ago did you wake up?"

She smiled guiltily, "A few minutes ago."

"And how much of that did you hear?" he asked, wondering if he ought to feel embarrassed to have been talking to her while she was asleep. In response to his question, Hermione sat up slightly and kissed him again before she spoke.

"Just enough to know that I made the best decision of my life in marrying you."

"The best decision?" he teased. "Careful there, don't say anything you won't want me to know next time you're angry with me." She chuckled, but he turned serious again quickly.

"I love you, you know." She nodded, and he went on. "And I meant every word of all that."

Hermione smiled up at him, and it was the most beautiful, most perfect thing he had ever seen. He said a silent thank you to the universe for granting him the privilege to be able to devote his life to trying to make her smile like that.

"I know, Ron. That's why I'm so lucky to have married you." He smiled down at her, feeling more in love, and more indebted to whatever force had caused her to fall in love with him when he so blatantly didn't deserve it than he had in his life.

"I'm the lucky one." He whispered, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer honesty of the statement.

"I love you Ron, more than anything." She said sincerely, "Don't think I don't know just how grateful I should be that you love me the way that you do. A lot of people spend their whole lives searching for someone to care that way about them. And I was fortunate enough to find you when I was 11."

Ron made a face, mostly because he wanted to save some portion of his dignity by acting like himself instead of just melting and trying to find a way to tell her just how much he loved her.

"Yeah, but I didn't love you yet then." Which if he thought about it was not entirely true; he had loved Hermione a lot longer than he would ever care to admit. And even if the love that had existed between them during their first two years of friendship had been platonic, it had been the foundation of what they felt now. It was from that friendship that everything else had come from. All the jealousy and turmoil and passion and adoration had all inevitably grown from the reluctant respect and friendship they had formed as mere children.

"No," she agreed, pulling him away from memories of all their years together back to the present. "I suppose you didn't then. But you started to, and I started to love you."

"And it was probably bound to happen as soon as you opened that train compartment door." He added, unable to keep himself from smiling at the memory of their first meeting. "Although I thought at the time you were the last person I ever wanted to spend any time with."

"I probably shouldn't have pointed out the dirt on your nose." Hermione conceded with a blush, "But I was just trying to help." She paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "It was meant to happen, wasn't it?"

"I like to think so." He admitted a little embarrassed. "It sort of justifies locking a troll in the bathroom with you."

Her gaze was suddenly more intense than anything he had ever seen in his life. It made him want to pull her close and run away at the same time. Instead he just held it and waited for her to speak. "I'm grateful every day for that troll."

Without quite thinking about it he was kissing her with all the force and passion of all the emotions that had been pushing their way out of him since he'd gotten home. It was crazy really, and by standard terms there was nothing romantic about what she'd said. But so was everything else about them. It was all a bunch of mad stories of how they'd alternated between hating each other and screaming the most hurtful things they could think of and saving each other's lives. It started with a toad and a troll and went through a battle and snake fangs, all the way to here. To _Hogwarts: A History_ and a dingy gray flat. It certainly wasn't the stuff that ordinary fairy tales were full of, and probably most people wouldn't quite be able to understand what it was about it that worked so well. But in that moment Ron was certain of two things. He loved Hermione, and that was the most perfect, inevitable thing in the world...


	14. Chapter 14: Funeral

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! So, I have a lot of issues with this chapter. I wrote most of it while being extremely sleep deprived, so that is the excuse I'm running with. I've read it back over a bunch of times, and I'm at a loss as to how to improve it, so I'll just go ahead and post it.  
>This chapter takes place the day of Fred's funeral, which I guess I don't know how that would work with so many funerals, but I'm just assuming it worked kind of like normal. In the context of this story it would be a few days(3 I think?) before Nightmares. I spent a lot of time thinking about the contents of this chapter, but I think I'm okay with it now. If any one wants to tell me the focus should be more on Fred and less on everything else, write me a review or a PM and I'd be happy to discuss it.<br>Special thanks to LillyMay77, oldlady, F Maurice and an anonymous reviewer. And to every one who favorited or alerted. Reviews are the most awesome things in the world:)  
>There were more things I wanted to say, but for the life of me, I can't remember it. So I guess that's it, enjoy and I'll see you in January I guess!<br>BarbedWire**

He almost didn't hear the quiet knock on his door. The fact that he did hear it did not prove to be enough to make him react. Instead he remained where he was, staring out the window at the careful arrangement of chairs on the lawn below. There had been too many gatherings of chairs around a plot of earth in the last weeks. Too many groups of people called together to watch the great finality of death. He was tired of it, tired of dressing up and remembering who someone had been only to remember that they no longer existed.

He rested his head exhaustedly against the glass of his window pane as the door opened quietly behind him.

"Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively from his doorway. "Are you okay?"

Everything in him wanted to snap at her. To point out how ridiculous a question it was, how he was obviously not okay. But he resisted, because it was obvious from her tone that she had no idea what to say to him. Instead he gave a little shrug, fixing his gaze on the cuffs of his dress robes so that he did not have to watch the arrangement of a coffin beyond the chairs.

"Fred would hate this." With a soft sigh, she closed the door and moved into the room. He watched her reflection in the window as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

"It is more for everyone else. For George and your mum and dad," he nodded, not really willing to embrace the logic she offered him.

"I spent four hours last night trying to come up with something to say." She didn't say anything. Just continued to watch him with the same look of helplessness she had begun wearing in his presence. He hated it, hated that she spent all her time with him looking for the right thing to say to him. As if she was certain that somewhere in the depths of her mind existed the words that would save him form all this pain if she could only find them. Every moment that she was unable to find these words made her feel inevitably helpless, and he hated it. She had no idea of course that every moment she spent combing her mind looking for the magic cure was really only serving to remind him how broken he was. He didn't want to be reminded that he was a hollow shell of what he really was; he didn't want to be poor pitiful Ron who had to be saved. He wanted her back, he wanted her to roll her eyes at him, to tell him that everything hurt and he wasn't the only one. He wanted her to offer him her hand and promise he wouldn't be alone. Hell, he even wanted her to vent her frustration by saying that she had no idea what to be saying. He wanted to be her friend again, the way they always had been through shitty times. He wanted her to care about him the way she always had, not feel sorry for him. He wanted to be nagged to eat and sleep and annoyed and aggravated by her endless knowledge and in love with her the way he always had been. He didn't want this.

"I have no idea what to say." He continued despondently, ignoring her pity. "I need to say something."

"You don't have to say anything, Ron." She said, her tone quiet and comforting. "No one's going to force any expectations on you."

"And how many people do you reckon _expected_ that we'd all have to get together to bury Fred?" he asked, half of her, half demanding the universe to answer for the injustice. He looked at her reflection in the glass by his face again. Silent tears were making their way down her face. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, unable to look at the hurt on her face.

"I'm sorry Ron. I'm so sorry, and I wish there was something I could do." He cut her off by slamming his fists unceremoniously into the window panes. The glass shook violently and for a moment even he was startled.

"What in the bloody Hell do you want me to say right now?" he asked, almost more of the air than of her. It seemed that he had spent nearly every minute since the battle walking around without knowing any of the words to say to anyone. He felt like there was something he needed to say to everyone, but he couldn't find a way to say any of it. And after everything, it really needed to be said. He'd faced every part of his worst fears. He'd seen his best friend proclaimed dead, his brother smashed lifeless, kissed the girl he loved more than anything. There were a thousand things to that needed to be said. But no matter how much he wanted to, or needed to, he could not force his mouth to open and tell Harry that he was probably the bravest person he knew; to tell any of his brothers that were a million times better than him, and he didn't hate them for it. He couldn't tell Hermione that he loved her no matter how sick he was of the words sitting on the edge of his tongue.

For a moment, he fully hated himself for the tears that formed in her eyes. But he was too exhausted to apologize again. All he'd done lately was to apologize. He'd said I'm sorry too much, and he was thoroughly tired of it.

"I don't want you to say anything, Ron." Her voice was pleading and he had to fight the urge to contradict her. To remind her that what she really wanted was for him to tell her what she could say to help him. He wanted to tell her how much she was killing him. He'd lost so much already. His brother was dead. He was expected to put him into the ground in a pine box today. He was expected to say something beautiful about the man his brother had been and to stand in line with his family and shake hands and accept condolences. Right now the only thing he thought he might be capable of doing was to scream.

He felt like he was drowning; being pulled under by the weight of grief and inadequacy and completely unable to save himself. He needed her to save him. Never mind that everyone was just as broken as him, more so even, he was still selfish enough to reach for her. But she was nowhere to be found, and as he sank further and further into the depths, instead of the strong, steady friendship and love he needed he was met only with pity and remorse.

"I just," she trailed off as he watched her reflection turn away from him. For a very long moment, they stayed like that. His eyes fixed studiously on the image of her sitting on his bed reflected in his window while she continued to look anywhere but at him, while all the words that remained unsaid between them seemed like a tangible presence.

"Nothing's right anymore." He wasn't really sure why he said it, but he was pretty sure it was the only honest thing he had said in days. He could practically hear the cogs turning in her mind, working as fast as they could to come up with something to say to him.

"Everything is shit." She hunted for the right words for a moment longer, before with a sigh that seemed to bounce around the room, she gave up.

"I know." She said quietly, full of resignation. Which he hated worse than anything, because the one thing that Hermione Granger did not do was give up. Never had he known her to give up on anything. Not trying to convince him and Harry to do their homework, or fighting You-Know-Who, or SPEW. Her stubbornness was part of her, part of what he loved about her even if he didn't agree with her. Nothing had ever been enough to stop her. Not Bellatrix's curses or the fact that he and Harry would never believe in homework or no one cared about SPEW. So why then should the fact that he was making her lost stop her from trying?

"Just stop," he said suddenly, no longer able to restrain himself. Everything about his feelings for her was muddled; for as long as he could remember they'd been muddled. Ruined by his inadequacy and constant jealousy. And even now, when after all that had happened there should have been nothing left between them, it was still just as messed up as ever. Now standing between them was his hollowness. It was a thousand times better destroyer then all the doubt and fear that had been there before. It fed off guilt and pain that he felt for pulling Hermione into this position of uselessness.

The emptiness scared him worse than anything else in the world. He tried as hard as he could to push it away, but it would not budge. At any moment it was likely to overcome him, and then he was sure he'd be lost. It was inside him, it was all around him and he couldn't escape it. He needed her to save him; otherwise he'd disappear inside it.

"Please, just stop it," he pleaded, at last leaving his position by the window to stand in front of her. She looked up at him, tear tracks down her beautiful face. She was everything that was good and right in the world. She was what he'd fought for; she was what he'd continue to struggle to live for. He needed her, now more than ever. She had to come back to save him. She just had to.

"Stop what?" she asked, her voice quivering. He had no idea if she was about to cry again, or if she was afraid of him.

"This," he gestured at the air around them. "All of this. Stop tip toeing around me. Stop looking at me like all you want in the world is to absorb all this shit for me. Stop trying to think of something to say to me."

"I can't do that Ron." Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it. Impulsively, he took her face in his hands.

"I need you to, Hermione. I need you right now."

"And I'm here, but you can't ask me to just give up on you-"

It was stupid. It was presumptuous. It was probably wrong and he would almost certainly regret it in the morning, but for a moment he let himself forget everything. Without thinking he leaned forward and crushed his lips to hers. He could taste the salt of her tears, and he wasn't sure exactly but he might have been crying a little bit too. But all that mattered was the pounding of heart in his chest. He could feel it, not whole, not healed but there; still stubbornly pumping life into his drained body. For the first time since the adrenaline of the battle had worn off, he felt something almost like being alive. It wasn't quite the way he had remembered feeling in the past, when he had no doubt that he was alive, but it was a thousand times better than the deadness that had been settling inside him. He didn't want the moment to ever end. He was terrified of what would happen when the moment finally had to end, terrified that the second his lips parted with hers that the pain would come back tenfold and it would cripple him and leave him bleeding and dying on the ground.

She could stop him. She could pull away or slap him, but he didn't think she would. After all, if she could kiss him in front of Harry with a battle going on around them just so she could have something to remember other than destruction, then he could kiss her in his bedroom before his brother's funeral because he was tired of feeling so dead inside. He was too tired to fling reason at himself; too weary and eager for the feelings of being alive and desperate to lover her to stop himself. So he didn't. He kissed her until at last the need for air forced him to pull away.

"Just stop trying to save me." He breathed his face still just millimeters from her.

She only hesitated for a moment before she shook her head. "I can't give up on you."

"I'm not asking you to. Just do it like you. Make me eat, make me sleep. Ask me to talk about it." Reluctantly, he let his hand fall away from her face and he took a step away from her. "I guess we better get out there." He said hesitantly, finding himself incredibly reluctant to end this moment. He had barely been alone with Hermione since everything had happened. Once he left this room, he would have to bury his brother. Somehow putting him in the ground seemed to imply more finality to the fact that his brother was gone. Once the words were written onto the stone it would be much too real, much too permanent.

He had no idea where he got the strength from, but somehow he managed to walk away from Hermione to the door. He put his hand on the knob and was about to open it when she spoke.

"Ron, when you get up to speak. Don't worry about what you say. It'll be right as long as you mean it." For a moment it was all he could do not to kiss her again, but somehow he resisted.

"Thanks," he mumbled, unreasonably grateful for the tiny piece of advice. No matter how terrible everything was today, and would be tomorrow and probably the next day and maybe even the next day he would be okay. Or at the very least he wouldn't be alone…


	15. Chapter 15: Honeymoon

**Author's Note: Hey! I know that I promised this for January, and I know I'm a few days late. For that I apologize. This chapter is dedicated to F Maurice, as a thank you for all the excellent reviews you've left. I really appreciate them, and I feel really bad that yours was the chapter with the greatest delay, but know that it had nothing to do with your suggestion being hard, and everything to do with the fact that I thought it would be a good idea to write something for all my favorite people as Christmas presents(which were all late too, because apparently deadlines aren't a strong concept for me) and everything else got pushed back. I'm also sorry F Maurice that I couldn't have executed your idea any better, but I hated to keep you waiting and there was just so much that I wanted to do with your idea, and so that made it hard to settle on one cohesive idea. SO THIS CHAPTER IS LIKELY TO BE REWRITTEN SO AS TO IMPROVE IT SOMETIME LATER.  
>In other news, I have homework again. But in a weird inverse relationship will likely mean that I actually write more! I love to procrastinate, and the idea of limited free time has rekindled my love of almost everything, Fanfiction and Ron and Hermione included.<br>I would like to thank F Maurice for the review on the last chapter, and once again I'm sorry I couldn't write you a better dedication chapter.  
>I do not own Harry Potter, or else I could write a way better Ron and Hermione fight.<br>I think thats it. Review? Seriously, it would be super awesome and make me feel really good about, well everything.**

**-BarbedWire**

Chapter 15: Honeymoon

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" the somewhat muffled reply came to him from the living room of the grey flat as he stood in the tiny bedroom, going through the stack of clean clothes on the bed.

"Have you seen my Chudley Cannons shirt?"

"You mean the one I wore to bed last night?" She responded, her tone making it perfectly clear that she considered herself to have much better things to be doing than helping him locate his shirt. The better thing to be doing, he supposed was reading. He did not even need to look into the sitting room to see it. He could already imagine her, sitting on the threadbare couch, her knees curled up beside her and some book, or work file or article balanced atop them as she read. He'd seen her take such a pose too many times to count since the day he had met Hermione Granger. It was one of his favorite things to picture actually.

Well, okay. It wasn't his favorite, or his second favorite thing to picture, but it was right up there. After a few much less appropriate images.

Endearing and utterly Hermione though her behavior might be, it was completely unhelpful to Ron, and therefore at the moment it was the last thing he wanted.

"No," he said, keeping his voice level. "The new one. Without all the holes."

"I don't know," Hermione replied, indicating that she was returning to her reading and he would have to handle this by himself.

"Have you got any ideas?" He shot back, increasingly annoyed at the book's obviously higher status on her list of priorities.

"Did you try the dresser?"

The large wooden dresser was new to the room. It was a gift from Hermione's parents. Just like the pile still stacked untidily beside the couch where Hermione was currently perched in the living room, it too had been wrapped in silver paper. He wasn't sure why everyone had decided that all wedding presents had to be wrapped in silver, but they all seemed to have either shared paper, or at least the thought process in purchasing it.

"I haven't got any clothes in the dresser." Ron frustratedly pointed out to his no doubt increasingly annoyed wife. Just thinking about her, sitting out there, willing him to leave her to her reading made him smile despite his annoyance at his current rank on her priority list. She was his. Everything he had ever wished for was sitting out there, in the small room on the ugly old sofa. She had promised to spend her whole life with him.

And granted, a large portion of that life would likely be spent absorbed in printed words, but he was pretty sure he could manage sharing her that much- provided he was allowed to completely monopolize her non reading hours.

"Why haven't you unpacked yet?" Her voice was drenched in exasperation, and Ron half suspected her to start reprimanding him about the importance of his studies, or how Snape's essay was more important than exploding snap.

Ron looked down at his still mostly packed bag sheepishly. They had been back from the Honeymoon for which he had packed the bag for only three days, and since then he had not touched it. Three days was technically plenty of time to unpack, but Ron had other things on his mind. Like how the exasperated voice belonged to his new wife, which still felt wonderfully new to think about. In Ron's opinion that was something completely worthy of celebrating. The whereabouts of his clothes had been far from the forefront of his mind.

"Just hadn't got to it yet."

With an ominous thud, Hermione closed her book. He heard her rise from the couch and cross the room in a few strides. It crossed his mind that he probably ought to have been afraid.

"And just when were you going to 'get to it' Ronald Weasley? You do have to go back to work tomorrow!" She demanded as she came into the room. "Tell me exactly when you thought you were going to get this done?"

"I dunno. I hadn't really set aside time to unpack my bag. 5:30 eat supper, 6:00 do dishes, 6:35 unpack bag-"

"That's right. And you were just going to keep not getting to it for weeks until I finally get so sick of looking at your stupid bag I do it myself!"

"I don't think you can just accuse me of convoluted backhanded plans to get out of unpacking"

"We both know that's what would happen!" She yelled, scooping up his bag, and throwing it down on the mattress.

"But that doesn't mean it's like a master plan!"

"So you didn't intend it that way, and that makes it okay?" She began to throw the clothes out of his bag with terrifying ferocity.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, shocked at his ability to keep his voice level.

"What does it look like?" She shot back, tossing a pair of jeans to the floor. "Cleaning up your mess!"

"I didn't ask you to do that." He pointed out, knowing that it would only make her angrier. He had always lacked the common sense or the self-restraint or the self-preservation instinct or whatever would have been necessary to resist carrying on once he had started down the path of a row. A sensible person, he supposed, would know not to say things which would only make it worse, but he had never been very sensible when it came to Hermione.

"No?" Her voice taking on the tone of deadly mocking she reserved for when she hated him most. "So I just imagined you calling me in here to sort out your misplaced clothes?"

"I didn't ask you to do anything!" he finally lost control of his voice and roared across the bed at her. Hermione dropped his clothes and stood up to her full height to glare at him. "I just asked if you knew where my damn shirt was!"

"You wouldn't have lost it if you'd dealt with your things instead of waiting for me to do it for you!"

"We've been home three days!" The truth was, he hardly even knew what he was fighting about anymore. That was the way their fights had always been; they'd start off with something that one or both of them actually cared about, and they'd take the opposite stance no matter what and scream and yell and say a lot if things they didn't mean. It never took very long, before that thing that one of them actually cared about was forgotten by each and the only thing that mattered was the screaming match. It didn't matter if they were making a scene, if Harry was trying to force logic back into them. While they were bickering, they might as well have been the only two people in the world. All he'd wanted to do in those times was to win the argument, or hurt her as she'd hurt him, or at the very least keep her attention focused on him for a bit longer.

He could remember when fighting with her was the only time he was allowed to begin express all the flood of feelings she aroused in him. Screaming was the only way he could vent all the passion he had for her. He'd welcomed chances to bicker in those days. Since they had been in a proper relationship they had fought significantly less, due in large part to the fact that they had other coping methods for the overflow of emotions. But even if being able to kiss her made living with her easier than he had ever known it, they were still Ron and Hermione.

"And in those three days you haven't touched your bags!"

"But that doesn't mean I expected you do it for me!"

"I'm not going to spend my whole life keeping track of your things!"

"Oh don't worry," Ron yelled derisively. "I know exactly where I rank in the scope of things!"

"The scope of things?" she shrieked, throwing his bag back down onto the bed out of frustration. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if there's a book around, or some work to be done, or some goddamned down trodden species of magical creatures to uplift I don't expect you to pay me much attention!"

Hermione's eyes popped. She was reduced to working her mouth in soundless rage for a long moment before she found her tongue.

"I can't believe you're being this immature!"

"That's bloody right," he threw his arms up in the air, as if the evidence for his point was all around him, when the truth was that he had almost no idea what his point was. He was angry for the sake of being angry, and even if they were not school children anymore and he certainly shouldn't need to make her scream at him to feel her attention, but old habits die hard and it felt good in a way. "That's right, just run me into the ground again; I'll still be here when you're through."

"Damn you Ron Weasley! Damn you, damn you!" As she spoke she began to grab the clothes out of his bag, and throw them one by one at him. He didn't bother to deflect or duck, he just stood there while t shirts and socks bombarded his face and screamed. They had reached the climax, when they had both moved past the realm of reasonable thought, and beyond the possibility of coherent arguments. When they were children, this had been the part where they had started to scream names at one another, struggling in vain to prolong their interaction a few minutes longer even though the fight was dead.

He was just contemplating how incredibly immature it was to be in a pointless screaming match with his wife, when she flung it at him. Like the rest he did not attempt to stop it from hitting his face, and it after it had made contact it fell straight down to land on the bed. All at once, the yelling stopped and they both fixed their eyes on orange garment as if it was the answer to every question they had ever had.

Without really deciding to, Ron had moved forward and wrapped his arms around Hermione, and was kissing her fiercely. She kissed him back just as enthusiastically. He twisted his fingers into her bushy hair and pulled her closer, causing her to moan a little into his mouth. Gently, he hooked his hands behind her knees and set her down carefully on the bed. They fell back together, on top of the bed covers and his still half packed bag and the Chudley Cannons shirt that had started this whole debacle. None of it mattered. All it would ever take was a millisecond of the taste of her breath before nothing else in the whole world would matter. They might as well have been the only two people in the world. All he wanted to do was to hold her forever, and he couldn't see any reason why this would be an argument he could not win.


	16. Chapter 16: Rosie

**Author's Note: am I terrible person? Yes, yes I am and I feel completely terrible about it. This chapter was suppposed to be finished by March at the very latest and now it's May. I'm not going to try and excuse my behavior, but I would like to offer an explanation. However, the only explanation I can offer is that the homework I mentioned in my last author's note sort of consumed my life for a while. I know, I know a lot of fanfiction writers are students and they manage to make it work.  
>But aside from all that terribleness I am super, super happy that this story surpassed 50 reviews! That feels like a major accomplishment to me, so thank you to all of you who reviewed. And you are: LillyMay77, F Maurice, chavi, and Romione-Percabeth-Tribut-Adict. You guys are super awesome.<br>This chapter is dedicated to LillyMay77, because you've left so many awesome reviews:) And I want you to know that your suggestion was very fun to write and the lateness of this chapter had nothing to do with it being hard to write. Now that said, I'm sorry it's not a better dedication chapter. I'm not sure about the end...  
>I have a cover image for this story now! Do you guys like it? The clay Ron and Hermione used in the picture were not made by me but the super brilliant CheerUpGothKid. Photo is by me though. And though I'm sure it comes as a shock to all of you, I am most definetely not JK Rowling, and therefore I do not own Harry Potter.<br>Reviews would be greatly appreciated:) and enjoy.**

**-BarbedWire**

Without a doubt, Ron Weasley thought as he stepped into the emerald green flames in the fireplace in the corner of his office, coming home was the best part of the day. No matter how much he loved his job; which he did. How could he not? He got to spend his days ridding the world of the evil he had been fighting his whole life. On top of that he got to work with his best friend all day, but even as much as he loved fighting evil at Harry's side as he had since he was eleven, nothing could touch the joy of stepping into his living room to find his family waiting for him.

And today was even better than usual because this was Friday, and Friday was Hermione's short day at the office which meant that both she and the kids would be home. Even the fact that he had yet to formally apologize for the silly fight they'd had the night before didn't bother him—that was why he had slipped out of work twenty minutes early to get the flowers that he now tucked carefully into his jacket to avoid losing them in the Floo.

"I'm home," he announced as he stepped onto the floor of his living room, taking care to brush the ash out of his ginger hair onto the hearth and not onto the wood floor. The only person that he could see in the living room was four-year-old Hugo. His son spared him about half a glance before he returned to his play with the Muggle toy car that Hermione's parents had gotten him.

Watching the boy smash the toy into the legs of the coffee table by which he sat, Ron smiled. He stepped into the room and set the flowers down on the coffee table and was about to sit down upon the floor and ask Hugo about his game when both of their attention was pulled away from the living room by the sudden sound of Rose's screaming and the slam of a bedroom door followed by his wife's voice saying,

"Rosie? Let me in to talk about it?"

Ron and Hugo looked at each other and Ron was amused to find that the look on the little boy's face must have been identical to his own face.

"What's all that about?" he asked hoping that the fact that Hugo had spent the day with his sister would mean that he knew something that Ron didn't.

Ever his father's son, Hugo merely shrugged. Ron was about to ask him how long this shrugging stage was going to last, as that seemed to be his response to everything lately when he once again heard Hermione's voice from upstairs. He stepped through the living room, patting Hugo's head as he walked by. "Stay here, okay Hugo?" he said as he started up the stairs. "I'm just going to see what's up."

"K Daddy," Hugo agreed before resuming smashing the car against the table. Ron smiled at him for another moment before he headed up the stairs to see what was happening with his daughter.

Six year-old Rose was not very much like her brother. Where Hugo was quiet and was often happy to entertain himself with his convoluted and imaginative games, Rose was loud and passionate. She was more often in fights with her brother and her many cousins then not and seemed to possess a destructive mix of her parents' tendencies. She had her mother's brains and her love of being right, coupled with his lack of tact and impressive ability to be offended. He had the unsettling feeling that raising Rose was only going to get harder as she got older.

As he reached the second floor landing he paused outside his daughter's open door. Rose was sitting on her bed, her eyes swollen and red from crying while Hermione stood just inside the room.

"Everything alright?" when he spoke Hermione turned to face him.

"Ron," she said, relief flashing across our lives. "Rose thinks that we fight too much."

"Where'd you get that idea, Rosie?" Ron asked, bewildered at his child's fear.

"You fight all the time!" she wailed burying her face into her pillow.

"That's not true-"

"Victiore's mummy and daddy don't fight all the time!"

"Is that what she said?" Asked Hermione soothingly, Rosie nodded.

"Probably because they don't get weirdly turned on by it-" Ron was not altogether surprised when Hermione stepped unceremoniously onto his foot. "Err, don't get as annoyed at each other."

"Albus says that people who love each other shouldn't say mean things."

"Albus is just repeating what Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny have told James so that he'll be nicer to his brother." Hermione replied gently, taking a seat on Rose's bed beside the little girl.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "'Sides, what have I told you about listening to Harry's kids?" His last remark earned him another glare from his wife.

This, Ron concluded as Rose burst into tears, was not the moment to be flirting with Hermione by way of annoyingness.

"Shh Rosie," Hermione cooed, ignoring Ron to fuss over their daughter.

"You hate each other! You're going to move into different houses and I'll have to pick a favorite!" Rose wailed, and Ron was not quite sure where she had got this idea.

Okay, so he and Hermione fought. But he had only spent one night at Harry's to cool down since Rose was even born. Usually they only sat in awkward silence for an hour until they swallowed their pride and apologized over dinner, or made up in private. There was too much passion between them not to fight, too much invested emotion and regret and lust and shared history not to overreact sometimes. And of course fighting was filled with lovely nostalgia and the promise of making up later. The idea of leaving after a fight had never occurred to either one of them as far as he knew. That they would make up was a predetermined fact, and neither of them had questioned it. Not since the night he had returned to the tent during the Horcrux hunt and she had forgiven him. Since then he had had no doubts that every rift between them would heal, and he would always love her.

"Rosie," Hermione placed a hand onto Rose's sobbing shoulders. "Mummy and Daddy love each other very much."

"But you're always fighting!"

"And why does that mean anything?" Ron asked his daughter. She shook her head, not even offering his infantile question a proper answer. She was so like her mother sometimes. "Honestly," Ron went on, more than a little exasperated that he was answered with such little respect. "Who do you know who loves each other and never fights?"

Now this Rose did not have such a quick reply to. Proud of himself for having successfully overcome Rose's seemingly endless answers to questions Ron went on. "Do you ever get angry at me?"

Grudgingly Rose nodded. "And your Mum?"

She nodded again.

"I know you can't stand Hugo half the time." His daughter once again agreed and Ron crossed his arms, smiling to himself that his point was made. Sensing her turn, Hermione rejoined the conversation.

"What your Daddy means to say, love, is that sometimes we're angry at the people we love and we fight with them."

"But you and Daddy get so upset!" As their daughter Ron supposed that it was not reasonable to have hoped that she would be anything less than obnoxiously stubborn.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "And sometimes we say a lot of things we don't really mean and have to avoid each other until we're over being upset. But it doesn't mean we don't love each other."

"But they said-"

"Enough with what they all said," Ron insisted. "Your Mum and I are telling you that everything is fine." Rose looked torn between her desire to be right and her longing to accept the relief that her parents offered.

"So you're not going to split up?"

It sounded ridiculously silly, to hear the question posed from someone so innocent, and even more ironic that it came from someone who was only alive because of the brilliant, passionate union that existed between he and Hermione.

"No." Hermione replied so firmly that it made Ron smile.

"Never?" Rosie pressed and this time Rom took the opportunity to respond.

"Never."

The answering look of adoration and pride that Hermione gave him as she turned to look at him made him the tiniest bit disappointed that more opportunities to tell the world he would never consider living without Hermione did not arise. A single breath caught in his chest as she smiled up at him and he was forced to remind himself that he was standing in his daughter's room at the moment and that the same child was not two feet from him. Instead of all the things he wanted to do, he simply smiled in return.

Rosie seemed to take this as confirmation enough, and nodded at her parents looking relieved. Hermione gave her a quick hug and kissed the top of her head as she began to blush. While Rose was in possession of many of Hermione's traits, there was no denying that she was Ron's daughter as well.

Not only had she inherited the Weasley red hair, she also had her father's mouth (much to her mother's dismay and his amusement), his near obsessive love of the Cannons and his tendency to brood rather than face things head on. He could tell from the look now on Rose's face that she wanted to be left alone to regret weeping to them. She was so like him sometimes. He pushed away all the fears he had about just how many terrible things might befall her because she was so like him. After all, she had Hermione's cleverness and her self-assuredness.

Quietly, Ron and Hermione slipped out of the room.

"What was all that about?" Ron asked as he gently closed his daughter's door. Hermione stood close to him on the narrow landing, still beaming from his declaration of never leaving her.

"While they were at your Mum's this morning Bill stopped by. Apparently she told her cousins about out little disagreement last night, and they couldn't understand why we would fight over such silly things and you know how Rosie is. She reacts before she thinks." It was impossible to miss the unmistakable smirk in Hermione's voice, and Ron knew exactly why.

"Mmm," he grunted in agreement, offering his wife a smirk of his own. "Sounds familiar."

"Doesn't it?" she teased in response.

"Speaking of last night," he began as they started down the stairs. "I brought you flowers."

"So is this your formal apology then?" she asked, and although her tone was serious she could not quite keep the smile off her lips.

Ron nodded in mock solemnity. Hermione paused a step above him and took advantage of the added height it gave her to plant a kiss on his cheek. "That's very sweet of you. But I don't think you need to keep bringing me presents every time we row."

"Never thought I had to, I just like to." He replied as they continued on down the stairs. "'Sides, I left them with Hugo. He's probably eaten them by now."

Hermione made a face. "I don't think our son is likely to eat flowers."

"It wouldn't be the weirdest thing he's ever done,"

"Ron, he's a child, not a dog!" With that they emerged bickering at the bottom of the stairs where the child in question was right where Ron had left him, the flowers untouched on the coffee table.

Ron leaned against the door frame and watched as Hermione scooped up their son and the flowers. The sight brought a smile to his face he could not imagine anyone being a big enough fool to throw away all of this over something as trivial as whose turn it was to dry the dishes or whatever it was they even fought about these days.


	17. Chapter 17: The Morning After

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm posting two chapters this week to make up for the obnoxiously late wait on the last one. But before you think I sat up all night writing this or something, that isn't the case. This was actually written as a birthday present for my good friend Niftygirl. And although it has been done since April, posting the last chapter was my priority so this one just hung out in my folder in the meantime.  
>This is set the morning after chapter 15, so if you just got here I would suggest reading it. Although it isn't strictly speaking necessary. I feel like this chapter is the first to fully earn it's 'T' rating, not that its very graphic or anything, its all just suggested. Like a giant innuendo, which is the closest I will probably ever get to writing smut. Thank you to F Maurice, chavi and LillyMay77 for the lovely reviews and to all the other people who read this, or added it to their alertfavorite. I'm sure you guys hear this all the time, but you all make me so ridiculously happy:)  
>But thats enough of me rambling, enjoy!<br>-BarbedWire**

Chapter 17: The Morning After

The first thing he noted as he slowly returned to consciousness was the sound of running water. It confused him slightly, in his groggy state but even though he was sure that it would help him to understand what exactly was going on, he refused to open his eyes just yet. Despite his closed eyes his mind stubbornly continued to wake and before he knew it he was aware that his comfort was being marred by something hard and slightly sharp underneath him.

Groaning as a way to mourn the loss of his pleasant sleep, he sat up to find that the thing he was laying on was in fact the zipper from his bag. The sight of the bag, and the orange t shirt that was mixed in with the strewn blankets caused the memory of the previous night to come flooding back to him. Annoyed at her absorbance in a book on his last night home, he'd nagged his wife about the location of a shirt which had led to a critique of his unpacking system and a lot of directionless screaming. But the best part, Ron remembered was when his offending shirt had reappeared and he and Hermione had completely forgotten what the point in screaming was.

Well, fighting at least.

Smiling to himself he sat up and realized that he was alone on the bed. He was not altogether surprised that he was alone; especially since the running water had to mean that Hermione had already slipped into the shower. Still, he could not resist wave of regret and hollowness that filled him. He hated waking up alone, even if she was no further away from him than the shower. It was a shallow reminder of all the times that sleeping had been an impossible task. Once upon a time, when the nightmares were still fresh, the knowledge that she was lying beside him was the only thing that had allowed him to push them away long enough to get some sleep. Of course she had been sleeping beside him almost every night since the week he had buried his brother, excluding her final year at Hogwarts, and of course by now he did not have a nightmare every time he closed his eyes. They still happened; sometimes he would wake drenched in sweat and feeling exactly as he had when he was in the war. The content of these dreams varied. Sometimes he would dream he was running to save Fred, and that if he could only push his legs a little faster he could save him; but he never could. Sometimes he was frozen watching Harry limp in Hagrid's arms as You-Know-Who declared his best friend dead for what felt like hours. And sometimes, he could taste blood again and feel the cold of dirty stone as he slammed his fists hopelessly against it while she screamed.

When he had them, they were every bit as terrible as they had been the very first night that she had climbed into his bed at the Burrow. On the rare occasions while Hermione was away he was much more likely to have a nightmare, and if she was gone it would take him ages to calm down after he woke.

This morning however, he had not dreamt of anything and his disturbance at her being gone was simply that it denied him the opportunity to nestle his face in her hair and shut the world out for a while longer. As he was indulging these musings, the water turned off suddenly. Smiling to himself at the impending return of his wife, Ron sat up and rapidly threw his offending bag out of the bed. He heard sounds from the bathroom; cupboards opening and closing, damp towels being tossed onto the floor and at last Hermione emerged into the bedroom.

He looked up at her, blinded slightly by the light of the rising sun that was now making its way through the window. On the street below, people could be heard going about their day; honking horns and sirens, all the token noises of a busy Muggle city. Due to the unfortunate location of their cheap flat, a group of less than savory kids skiving off school could be heard laughing at their own lewd jokes. But unlike other mornings, when Ron could only focus on how tired he was of his grey walls and this "charming" corner of London, this morning he could not see anything past the dressing gown clad woman before him. Her brown curls had yet to return to their natural bushy state, but instead were sitting still damp and dripping upon her shoulders. Unable to resist, he beamed up at her hoping that he could memorize every aspect of this moment and hold onto it forever.

She blushed slightly at the intensity of his gaze, but smiled back at him just the same.

"Hey,"

"Good morning," she replied, the sunlight reflecting in her eyes and glistening of her wet face.

"Have a nice shower?" she nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. Ron inched his way closer until he was sitting immediately behind her and rested his head against the soft cloth of her dressing gown so that he could smell the sweet smell of her shampoo, which was his favorite strawberry scent. He looked up from his position on her shoulder into her slightly amused face; the obnoxiously giddy state of mind he found himself in left him at a loss of what to say.

"Hey," he repeated while Hermione turned to run a hand through his hair, which was still messy from the way he had slept.

"Hey yourself." Her hand lingered for a moment on his cheek and he reached up and took hold of it, pressing her palm to his lips.

"Love you," he muttered, feeling the moment entirely too much to worry about how ridiculously, obnoxiously cheesy he was being. Just as long as Harry never heard about this; he'd rather spend the morning engrossed in how much he loved his wife rather than what his best friend would say if he saw him so in love with his wife.

"I think I've heard that before, oddly enough." She cheeked before leaning in awkwardly to kiss him lightly. "I love you too," she added, her lips lingering on his so that he could feel her words tickling, warm against him.

Getting even higher off her than he would have thought possible for such a chaste kiss, he grinned.

"Think I heard something to that effect last night." The resulting blush that spread across Hermione's face in response to his smirking reference of the previous night's activities may have been the most perfect thing that Ron had ever seen.

"Although," he added as though a thought had just occurred to him. "It could be that I just mistook all that screaming ecstasy for a declaration of love."

Hermione nodded in mock solemnity.

"You've caught me. I'm only here for your manly prowess."

"Well," Ron said smirking at the joke. "I suppose I can see why that would force you into a non emotional relationship."

Hermione turned slightly so that she was entirely between both of his arms as he sat propped up on his hands to remain upright. She uttered something that may have had something to do with 'making sacrifices' but the truth was that Ron did not hear her. Instead he found his focus torn between the neck of her dressing gown and the edges of her naked body that were visible there, and the intoxicating feel of her kiss and the gentle pressure of her hands on either side of his face. Just as he felt his mind losing itself in her touch, she pulled away softly.

"Ron," she started and he longed to ignore her words and give her lips another occupation; but if she was done then he knew better than to push his luck. He forced himself to look her in the eye, and was somewhat comforted to find that she looked unhappy about the interruption as well.

"We can't do this right now." There was a major discrepancy between what she was saying and the look in her eyes and the way that she had yet to move her hands from his face, and despite how wrong he knew it was, he allowed that discrepancy to be his hope.

"Why?" his voice was rough with sleep and passion, but to his dismay there was a distinctive pout to it. Try as he might he could never fully suppress his gut reaction to be hurt by anything that remotely resembled rejection. Even though he knew how completely ridiculous and unfounded his irrational fears were, he could not help giving in to them occasionally.

Hermione bit her lip as if she were debating something with herself. "We have work," she said, the tone of her voice making it clear that even she was having a hard time believing her argument merited observing. The idea that Hermione was so moved by him to even consider the idea of spending the morning in bed a possible excuse for being late to a responsibility would have made Ron grin with satisfaction. That is, if he hadn't just realized that he had completely forgotten that he even had a job and that she had just reminded him of said job.

"Shit," he breathed, distractedly running a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"

"7:30" which gave him a full half hour to get to the joke shop to help George for the day. Which didn't leave him enough time to walk there, but he could always apparate, or floo or—or maybe he completely didn't care.

"You know what?" he said, bringing his hand back down to twist his fingers in her still wet curls. "Work can stuff it."

Despite the fact that he had had the courtesy to censor his language from what he really thought work could do to itself, Hermione made a face.

"We've had almost two weeks off already…" It was clear that she felt they really both ought to get out of this bed, put some clothes on and go out to be responsible, productive adults. It was also clear that that was not at all what she wanted to do.

"And it wasn't hardly enough." Ron declared so tenderly that she smiled.

"That may be," she went on though Ron was no longer listening. "But it means I've missed two weeks' worth of developments and George has been all alone and" her voice trailed off as Ron began to kiss down her neck and across her shoulders, inching the neck of her dressing gown open as he went.

"Ron" she breathed sharply as he worked his way down to her collar bone. At the sound of his name he lifted his face up to meet hers.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice a low and rough whisper.

She bit her lip again, clearly caught between her desire to do what she was supposed to do and her desire to be with him.

"I can't miss a whole day," she said, catching his wrists and holding his hands before her. It wasn't exactly an answer to his question, and she surely knew that but it was also enough for him.

"So don't." he suggested, twisting his hands free to wrap them around hers. "Just be late." She looked at him for a moment, his very favorite reluctant smile playing across her face.

"What about George?"

Ron shrugged, "He's going to take the mickey out of me anyway, so I might as well give him a glorious victory that he can give me Hell for."

"Glorious victory?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him in questioning.

"Persuading Hermione Granger to be late for something? I think that counts as a victory."

"Hermione Weasley." She corrected him so quickly that it made him smile like an idiot. "And I don't think you've persuaded me to do anything." She insisted in that brilliantly stubborn voice of hers.

Now it was Ron's turn to raise a smirking eyebrow at her, not that she was offered very long to see it before he crushed his lips against hers and pulled her into his lap, pulling away only long enough to utter one last rhetorical question.

"Oh haven't I?"


	18. Chapter 18: Someday

**Author's Note: Hey there everyone! It's been a long time since I updated this story and I'm sorry for that. Fortunately, since I have essays to write and midterms to deal with all that stuff I was supposed to be doing provided my mind with the opportunity of how to work this little oneshot out. Don't you love procrastination? In case none of you knew this, I participated in a drabble competition in July(which I took first place for the hard category and I'm a little proud of myself) and a couple of my drabbles were Ron and Hermione centered if you want to check them out. Let's see "Laundry" was the purest shot of fluff I have ever written, "Hollow" is my first attempt at Hermione's POV, there are also a few Harry and Ron bromance centered ones if no one knew those existed and might be interested to read me attempting to write my favorite characters in less than 550 words.  
>Away from shameless promotion and back to the present, this takes place after Chapter 11: A Little Chat. So if you aren't familiar with the plots of Chapters 10 and 11, you might want to check them out. Although it's one of my weaker chapters and I therefore cannot reccommend you read it Chapter 14: Funeral is relevant too. But I don't like it as well. This is an angsty chapter, but Ron is an angsty guy. Thanks to NiftyGirl for confirming my suspicions that Ron would in fact continue to stall. I have not morphed in JK Rowling since I last updated. I love reviews, and this is the part where I offer thanks to all of you who did review on the last chapter, so thanks to LillyMay77 and F Maurice. Can't think of what else I usually say in Author's Notes...<br>Enjoy!**

Chapter 18: Someday

Roughly, he wiped his eyes with his scarred and burned hand. To better ignore the warm wetness that came away with it, he thrust it ungraciously back into the dewy grass underneath him. He looked out over the orchard where he had spent so much of his childhood. He had sat underneath this tree a thousand times over the years, and its rough bark was oddly comforting to him now. His eyes stung again and he forced them closed as if by depriving them of oxygen he could somehow prevent the tears from forming. The darkness of his closed eyelids was hardly comforting, but he refused to open them instead keeping his blind face pointed stubbornly across the orchard, away from his home and the disgustingly carved stone that he knew was located on the other side of it.

The war was over. Voldemort was gone and he no longer lived in world in every decision his best friend made would be dictated by that madman. The woman he loved would no longer be persecuted because of what she was. What was left of his family was safe. It was over.

But if it was really over, it seemed to Ron that he shouldn't have to keep reminding himself.

He supposed it was only because he had actually memorized the sound of her footsteps that he heard her move towards him through the wet grass. Her presence caused something to relax inside him, and only partially reluctantly he opened his eyes to watch her sit down beside him.

"Hey," she said quietly, pulling her mass of brown curls to sit on one worn sweater clad shoulder.

"Hey," he forced a tiny smile for her, because she was so breathtakingly beautiful and he didn't want her to feel helpless the way she had before.

"Your dad told me you might be out here." She explained, as if he had any cause to question her presence. "But if you'd rather be alone-"

"You're fine." He said as firmly as he could, hoping that she did not see the involuntary blush that crept from his cheeks to his ears as he remembered all to vividly the way she had slipped into his bed the night before and the conversation he had had with his father this morning in which the words "I love her" had been tossed around freely.

She seemed to relax at his permission and even offered him a slight shadow of the perfect smile that he had once feared never to see again.

"I hope I didn't wake you," he said awkwardly, entirely unsure whether or not their newest sleeping arrangements were supposed to be mentioned in the daylight or not. "When I got up."

"You didn't." she replied simply and Ron found himself scanning her face to see if it was a lie. At last he reasoned that if she had overheard what he'd told his father, she would say something and he let his eyes fall away from her face.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked when his focus was turned back to the grass below him.

"Better," Ron admitted, his cheeks moving upward in the first natural smile to cross his face in days. The action felt strange foreign to him, even though he could still remember all the laughs he and his friends and brothers and Ginny had shared over the years. "You?"

"Much better," he could almost hear the smile cross her face, whether because of her sleep or in response to his own he could not tell. He wanted to look at her, to see something other than pain and fear on her face again, but he hesitated.

"It'll be okay, yeah? Someday it will." It wasn't really a question. He knew enough about humanity and the world to know that life would indeed start again. He knew that someday the dramatic rise in his heart rate that Hermione caused in him would seem important again. He knew that eventually he would have to take Harry's side against something again, and the future would matter to him again. There'd be jokes again, and things to look forward to and something inside his head other than weariness and pain.

Hermione nodded. He watched her, wondering if the mythical 'okay someday' that she was imagining looked anything like his. He hoped it did. "Yes, it will."

"And I sort of hate that." He admitted, noticing regretfully as he spoke that it did sound just as crazy out loud as he'd feared. "I mean, he doesn't even get to be. Doesn't seem like I deserve to be okay someday."

"I know." She sighed, as if deciding at last to do something that she knew would be unpleasant. Next thing he knew she was kneeling directly in front of him, so close she could have rested her chin upon his bended knee. "Fred didn't deserve what happened to him." Her voice broke slightly over his name, but somehow her eyes held his captive and despite his gut reaction to turn from the mention of his dead brother, he stared straight back at her. "He deserved to have a long life surrounded by the people he loved, and it's a terrible tragedy that he doesn't get that. But it doesn't change what you deserve, Ron Weasley. You're a beautiful person; you're brave and strong and loyal and you're going to be okay and I'm not going to let you feel guilty about it."

He loved her.

Suddenly he remembered that she had kissed him in the Room of Requirement, and slept beside him, and that he had kissed her the morning of his brother's funeral and told his father that he loved her that very morning.

Cautiously he reached out and brushed a single curl away from her face. She did not flinch away from his touch. There were tears in her brown eyes, and he desperately hoped that his own were now dry though he suspected they weren't.

He could say it now; it would be easy really. He could just open his mouth and say it; he wouldn't even need to say it very loud as close as she was. He could whisper it probably, and she would understand. It was only three words, he could do it.

"You know how hard he'd hit us all right now? If he were here?" He didn't know why he'd said that, it certainly wasn't what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure where his mind had found that thought, or the chuckle that accompanied it. Even to his ears he could tell that the laugh was born more from pain and pure nerves than whatever humor there might be in imagining what Fred would do if he were here.

"Pretty hard." She agreed, the tears in her eyes had finally spilled over as she spoke quietly, leaning forward on her toes to plant a kiss gently onto his forehead.

Disgusted with himself as he was for ruining a seemingly perfect opportunity, he took heart. Someday he would tell her, and if what Bill and his father and Harry and some strange feeling in his gut implied was right, she would be happy to hear it.

If this sort of thing kept up, someday had the potential to not only be okay, but pretty damn wonderful.


	19. Chapter 19: Cuddling

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Happy Holidays, and happy winter as well. Unless you live in the southern hemisphere where I suppose it is now summer. It took me all December to write this, because NaNoWriMo is apparently very distressing to the writing parts of myself and it takes a while to fully recover. But I made it through NaNo(and not that anyone cares, but I made it to 50,000 words). This chapter has almost no plot, because I was so sick of writing plot I wanted to write fluff without plot. So this is just that, fluff and no plot. Thanks to NiftyGirl for her sounding board services and thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorite or alerted the previous chapters of this story. Thanks to fanofhermione, LillyMay77, koryandrs, F Maurice and an anonymous reviewer. I appreciate everyone of your words. I don't know what else to say here, so enjoy and leave me a review if you feel like it. I always appreciate them.**

Chapter 19: Cuddling

He had been asleep, or at the very least something so close to sleep that the difference didn't matter much. The distinction between asleep and not quite asleep mattered even less when one considered that he was awake now either way.

Groggily, he opened his eyes. It was light outside, but it had been light outside when he'd dozed so that did not give him any indication of how much time had elapsed. The fact that he could only prove he had ever lost consciousness by the fact that he had been aware of returning to it would imply that he had not been asleep long.

But he knew better than to trust his sensations on the matter. There had been times, far too many times, in which assuming because he only couldn't recount for a few moments or he hadn't dreamt anything that he had only slept ten minutes or so had made him hours late to things. Hours late.

Ron Weasley wasn't going to take any chances now, no he was going to find out exactly how long he had been asleep.

Of course simply rolling his wrist over so that he could read the face of the golden watch his parents had given him when he came of age would have been easy, if not for the still sleeping woman who was tucked tightly against his side.

The heel of her hand was pushed into the scarred flesh of his abdomen, hovering somewhere between the top of his hip and the bottom of his ribs while the other was draped carelessly atop the shoulder of his watch arm.

If he just moved his arm so that he could read the time, then her hand would slip off its perch on his bicep and fall into the space between his body and his arm. And that might wake her.

He would have to cleverer than that if he wanted to preserve her peaceful slumber. A spray of her curls rested across his bare chest, the rest completely filling the space between their bodies. They were all slightly tangled, free strands flying free from the group and catching the light that he could now see was fading from the room at strange angles. The tips of his fingers grazed across her thigh, where the hem of his maroon t shirt ended abruptly exposing her skin.

She slept on, beautifully oblivious to him and his quest for the time. Damn, he didn't want to wake her.

She was beautiful, not that she wasn't always, but the relaxation and relief of sleep always did something especially beautiful to her, as if all the years and horrors he knew she had seen, all the anguish that the world, including himself had caused her melted away from her. It left her looking perfect and innocent, and the sight of it made him incapable of anything but smiling like an idiot- particularly when the peaceful innocent sleep was done in a bed of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs.

She moved her head in her sleep, her nose pushing against his skin and the temptation to laugh was so strong he almost couldn't resist. But he must, the spasmodic contractions of his torso that would accompany laughing would wake her for sure.

If he squinted at the right angle, he could almost see the tiniest movement of the stars on his watch. Just the teeniest lift and turn of his arm would let him read the time.

Hermione mumbled something in her sleep. He couldn't make out what word it might have been, what with her face buried against their sheets, and her notorious sleep slurring.

Absentmindedly, the fingers that rested against her thigh began to move, slowly back and forth across her skin tracing nonsensical patterns. Hermione did not stir at his touch, and it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he didn't need to know what time it was. Maybe it didn't matter, and he could forget about his watch and how long he had slept and just focus on the flawlessly wonderful feel of the moment, his arms wrapped securely around his wife, clothed only in his t shirt in their bed that was probably going to take them the better part of a half hour to straighten out when they finally got round to waking up, and return to the peacefulness of sleep.

It was such a tempting idea that Ron was shocked he had not thought of it earlier and he closed his eyes preparing to do just that.

He was drifting so close to sleep that the bed seemed to be swaying when it occurred to him that he might already have slept through the whole night and now he was sleeping his morning away.

With a jerk, Ron wrenched his eyes open and tried without lifting his arm to read the time. Useless.

The sigh of defeat that escaped his lips was far more audible than he would have liked it to be, and he instantly cursed himself for the very real possibility that his outburst had woken his wife.

"What are you trying to do, Ron?"

She almost giggled suddenly beside him as he experimented with how much muscle contraction would disturb her hand. Obviously he had neglected to look after something else with the power to wake her.

"Shit, Hermione," he apologized; shocked by how sleepy his voice still sounded given how long he had been awake. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she insisted, spreading her fingers out along his abdomen. He struggled not to shudder at the slight touch. "I woke up a few minutes ago."

Which by no means meant that he hadn't been the cause of her waking, but when she picked her head up and repositioned her weight so that a good half of her body was hovering over top of his, the ends of her brilliantly untamed bushy hair flitting across his chest, the impulse to argue with her faded somewhat.

"Well,'morning then." He said instead, the corner of his mouth turning upward in what he pretended was a charming smile, but in reality was probably more of an idiotic grin. "Sleep alright?"

She nodded, and as she did so her hair tickled his skin. "But I don't think it's quite morning yet."

With a slight start he remembered what he had been attempting to do when she had woken. "Reminds me," he yawned, rolling his wrist over and looking at the glass surface of his golden watch. "That's what I wanted when you woke up." Before he could hardly read the time however, Hermione's hand had wrapped around his wrist and with a motion that was careful not to hurt him, turned the back of his hand to face her instead of him.

"Oi, I think that's my watch." He insisted when she let his wrist fall back onto the sheets and turned to look up at him again.

"It's 6:30." She told him, her face straight, but her eyes offering the tiniest hint of mischief. He was well accustomed to that look of mischief. He has seen it in her eyes too many times over the years. When she had concocted the original plans for practicing defensive spells behind Umbridge's back fifth year, or when she'd hidden hats intended to free house elves around the common room, or when she'd reached for his hand under the table at Sunday lunch at his mum's.

It was that particular mischievous look that landed them directly in this spot.

"And we went to sleep at about 6, so we've only missed a half hour." She smiled down at him, teasingly demure. "Isn't that all you wanted to know?"

"We'll yes," he admittedly grumpily, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt where it ended on her thigh. "But it's my wrist."

"Well," she picked it up once again and clasped his hand between both of hers. "I'm sorry to have manhandled it." As if to make her apology sincere she placed a kiss gently onto the back of his hand. It was the type of cheesy gesture, like making Christmas cards with photos of yourselves kissing under mistletoe, or eating off each other's silverware or calling each other by stupid nicknames that was just pointless. The only possible functional purpose of doing something like that would be to make everyone around you uncomfortable, and Ron had made it a sort of unofficial mission to never condone such ridiculous behavior.

Sensible Ron would have rolled his eyes and made a joke, but whether because he had only woken a few minutes ago or maybe the sheer fact that he was lying indecently clothed and well twisted in the blankets with Hermione half supporting herself, half resting atop him, the only possible thing he could think to do was move in to kiss her.

When they broke apart a few minutes later and rested their heads carefully back down onto their respective pillows, or in Hermione's case resting somewhere between her pillow and his chest, Ron sighed.

"We've got to get up again, haven't we?"

"Probably." Hermione agreed, her voice mumbling against his shoulder, the warmth of her breath tingled his skin. "We can't expect to go to sleep at 6:30."

"Well we could," Ron mused. "But we'd be ready to be up by 4 in the morning."

"And then we'd be tired all day." Her logic was infallible and he knew it. No matter how warm and comfortable he might be right now, he was going to have to leave this bed again.

"But we don't have to get up yet." She said her voice suddenly firm. "We can lie here a bit longer."

He smiled, and rolled to plant a kiss on her forehead. "That sounds like a brilliant idea." He closed his eyes and nestled deeper into the covers, feeling himself drifting back towards sleep. Really, it seemed impossible to Ron to think of a better place to be.


End file.
